


Kindling Constellations

by amphitrite



Series: Supernova [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Non-Chronological, Older Characters, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amphitrite/pseuds/amphitrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of heartache, Aang and Zuko are finally together. But their bliss is interrupted by an age-old Fire Nation worry: the Fire Lord’s lack of an heir. Getting wind of the royal gossip, Mai returns to the palace and the man she left decades ago — with the daughter he has never known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back! I wasn't sure if this fandom was even alive when I wrote the previous story, but your wonderful support has proven that the Aang/Zuko ship sails on. This first chapter was originally intended to be a third of the length it turned out to be, but think of its word count as a humble gift from me to you.
> 
> Reading _The Fire of A Thousand Suns_ before diving into this story is strongly recommended. Can't guarantee all of it will make sense otherwise. Enjoy!

**_Present day, 139 ASC_ **

Even after three months, there were days when Zuko woke up, found Aang next to him, and still had trouble believing his good fortune. There was something magical about turning over in bed and finding the other man so close. The ease with which he could simply reach over and hold him was miraculous in its own right.

As Zuko coped with his personal disbelief, the kingdom struggled with the notion of the Fire Lord and the Avatar together as more than legendary friends. Although Zuko and Aang had initially tried to keep their relationship from the public, little that went on in the palace was impervious to fueling the far-reaching grapevines of royal gossip. Of course, how they had come to be together was shrouded in mystery. Most of the rumors floating around were ridiculous and based on pure speculation and conspiracy theories. Zuko was relieved that at least that part of their affair was not going to be discussed in the street market or go down in the history books.

His advisors had either come to terms with the new developments or given up on trying to convince him that it was political folly. Zuko was almost glad for it until they put away that particular concern to bring up an old one — the question of Zuko’s heir, or lack thereof.

There was a time in his youth when he had assumed that he would marry Mai, who would then bear the children who would inherit his throne. At the time, he had loved and cherished her deeply. It had been the immature, inexperienced love of children, but it had been real in its own way. When he had switched sides in the war, it had pained him to think that they would be fighting on opposite sides of the battlefield. But he had put aside those feelings for the sake of saving the world and devoted little thought to what could have been. Yet in the end, Mai had betrayed Azula to save him. He would never forget that.

They had remained together for four years after the coronation, until Mai had found out about the desperate meetings with his father. He didn’t realize until much later that it hadn’t been his visits with Ozai that had sparked her rare demonstration of fury — it was that he had been more willing to confide in his imprisoned father and look to him for advice than speak to his own girlfriend about his troubles.

“You love your secrets more than you love me,” she had said, ignoring his pleas for her to stay. She had once threatened him never to leave her again, but this time, she had left by her own choice.

He had not taken the loss well, throwing himself into the politics of the Harmony Restoration Movement and its inevitable collapse. His rage and frustration had almost led to the resurrection of war and the nightmarish prospect of fighting opposite Aang once more. Luckily, that disaster had been averted and their friendship strengthened. Neither of them had been ready for the brutality of politics, and after they confronted each other, they had realized they were stronger if they supported each other without letting pride get in the way. Throughout the years, they had let the friendship between Zuko and Aang rust, leaving behind only a tense alliance between the Fire Lord and the Avatar. There would be no more of that, Aang had declared. They were friends first and political powerhouses second.

Not long after that, Zuko fell hard and fast for Aang. But when Aang turned him down the night of his eighteenth birthday, Zuko retreated into himself to mourn and to lick his wounds. It had stung to lose his faith in love and romance. Twice. Still, Zuko forced himself to be strong and to come to terms with the prospect of being alone for the rest of his life.

Then, at Aang’s wedding, he had lost it. All the progress he had made in his recovery had slipped the moment he saw Katara and Aang standing together at the altar, looking so happy and good together. He had ended the evening miserably inebriated and weeping in the lavatory, something he could only vaguely remember. Sokka of all people had found him and walked him back to his room, promising not to tell a soul what he had witnessed.

A fortnight later, when Mai had come to him requesting a second chance, he had latched onto the opportunity for companionship. She wasn’t Aang, but she was dear to him, and he had begun to think that being alone was detrimental to his health. But after three years of tension, bizarrely heated arguments, and lackluster sex, that had fallen apart, too. Once again, Mai left him, this time with the declaration that she had given up on him and was leaving for Republic City with Ty Lee, who would make a far better partner and lover than him. Zuko had been outraged, but Mai had stood her ground and accused him of wasting his life away pining for Aang. In his shock, he had let her go.

“It’s obvious to anyone who knows you, Zuko,” she had said when he had fallen into a startled silence. “But I also know you would never have told me. That’s what hurts the most.”

She had been right, of course, but the betrayal still cut deeply.

That was the last time there had been any prospect of heirs. It was a quandary he tried to avoid pondering. Aang was obviously unlikely to produce any heirs for him, and he could not bear the thought of entering a political marriage solely for the purpose of impregnating some noble girl to satisfy his advisors. Yet as he grew older, inheritance evolved into more and more of a real problem. If he could not produce an heir, generations of his family’s reign would come to an end. His relationship with Aang was controversial enough; he would not be responsible for the end of an entire dynasty.

“Stop thinking so hard.”

Removing his face from his hands, Zuko glanced over at the plush red couch next to his desk. Aang had been dozing off there, but he was now sitting up and leaning against the arm, looking expectantly at Zuko.

“I’m not,” Zuko protested half-heartedly, pretending to continue working on the enormous stacks of paperwork that had taken over his desk. “How was your nap?”

“I was just meditating,” Aang replied, to which Zuko chuckled.

“Right,” he teased. “Do you always snore when you meditate?”

Aang’s indignantly appalled look was priceless. Zuko loved that he wielded the power to dissolve Aang’s stoic exterior and get at the fun-loving innocence that hadn’t been corroded by years of war and diplomacy. He used it every turn he got. “I do not snore!”

“I think I would know better than you, sweetheart,” Zuko said, throwing in a smirk for good measure. Aang, who had raised a gold pillow presumably to throw at him, softened at the endearment. Zuko would never get tired of that, either.

Aang opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a large yawn. Zuko burst out laughing. Aang shot a glare at him, but that only made Zuko laugh harder, especially when Aang was clearly trying to suppress a wide grin.

The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Zuko called, sitting up straighter in his stiff chair and composing himself.

“Your majesty,” the attendant said with a bouncy bow when he had entered the room. “There are visitors from the United Republic requesting your immediate presence in the throne room.”

Aang glanced at Zuko, who nodded, looking puzzled.

“Thank you, Min,” he said. “Let them know that I will be right with them.”

The man bowed low and left the room.

Curiously, Aang asked, “Losing track of your appointments?”

“No,” Zuko said, standing up and glancing into the mirror on the wall briefly. “This is unexpected. It is not often that anyone in the United Republic has need for consorting with the Fire Nation without an appointment. Come with me?”

Aang heaved a sigh. “Must I? Your royal duties can be awfully tedious.”

“Don’t act as if you have anything better to do,” Zuko said.

Indignant, Aang said, “Sure I do. I have books to read and letters to answer.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, but the smile on the edge of his lips betrayed his amusement. “You just spent the past forty minutes dozing off. Come with me, and we’ll take afternoon tea in the gardens afterward.”

Aang hopped to his feet. “Bit cold for being outdoors,” he remarked.

Zuko strode over to Aang and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth. He loved that he was allowed these casual shows of affection. He was never, never going to tire of it. “I’ll keep you warm. Hurry, now. It won’t do to keep my visitors waiting.”

They made their way to the throne room. Over the years, Zuko had made significant renovations to the grand room, replacing his father’s intimidating War Room décor with deep reds and luminous golds that suggested not the dangerous, murderous aspect of fire but rather its lifegiving ability to emit warmth and light. Of course, the wall of fire before the throne had been the first to go. Tall pillars still lined the room, but they were now grandiose structures carved with dragons, flowers, and curls. The dazzling room’s tapestries and high ceilings were embroidered and painted with the same imagery in an attempt to distance himself from Ozai’s methods of intimidation.

Zuko took his seat on the throne. Aang stood beside him, hands tucked behind his back. Zuko recognized the serene but serious expression that graced his handsome face as the one he wore in diplomatic meetings. It was the face of the Avatar, endlessly powerful yet peaceful symbol of unity.

“Let them in,” Zuko said. The guards at the doors pulled them open, and two other guards escorted the visitors in.

There were three women — two tall, thin figures and a smaller one. As they made their way down the long, red carpet that led to the throne, Aang gasped. Zuko stood immediately as recognition struck him as well. He would know the woman in the center anywhere. Her dark hair, peppered with strands of gray, was wound up in a bun at the back of her head, and she wore a familiar grim expression. Her garb was simple, green-gray with hints of maroon and gold, and its billowing folds did nothing to disguise her gangly limbs.

“Hello, Zuko,” Mai said pleasantly, with the hint of a wry smile. The crinkles at the corners of her eyes curled upward in sardonic mirth as she and her companions knelt before the throne. “It’s been a long time.”

“Mai,” Zuko said, unable to tamper down his obvious surprise. He realized that the older woman to her side was none other than Ty Lee. She wore a long green coat, loose pants, and tall boots, as was bizarrely fashionable in Republic City nowadays. Her long hair was neatly plaited and trailed down her back. Mai wore her age with a dignified grace, but Ty Lee looked barely over forty. “What in the spirits’ name are you doing here?”

“I hear you have need of an heir, your majesty,” she responded evenly as she rose to her feet.

“And what business is that of yours?” he replied, completely mystified. “Surely you do not think there is any chance for a revival of our relationship?”

“No,” Mai said coldly. “I have no wish to impugn the integrity of your relationship with the Avatar. Congratulations at last, by the way.”

Zuko reeled back in surprise. While he had known on a logical level that news must have traveled across country borders by now, it was uncomfortable to know that his personal business was being aired even across seas. He couldn’t help but glance at Aang, whose face remained impassive, though his body language was tense.

“I have no patience for your subterfuge,” Zuko declared. “State your intention or stop wasting my time.”

Mai rolled her eyes, insolent. “Perhaps the Avatar has not done you as much good as I would have hoped. Fine, Zuko. We are here to present to you your heir.”

“My what?”

At Mai’s nod, the third woman stepped forward. She was tall, with long, jet-black hair that hung loosely around her face. Her high cheekbones, porcelain-pale skin, and golden eyes were uncannily familiar. Dressed in a high-collared red tunic and tight black pants, she wore boots much more egalitarian than Ty Lee’s. She had to be at least twenty-five, maybe thirty.

“This is Liang,” Mai said, gesturing toward the woman. “Our daughter.”

*

After what was possibly the most awkward dinner in which he had ever participated, Zuko had an attendant escort Mai, Ty Lee, and Liang to the suites he had had prepared for them. Aang and Zuko wished them a good night and retired to their own chamber in silence, though Aang looped his arm through Zuko’s in his as soon as they turned to depart.

“I never got my afternoon tea in the gardens,” Aang said sadly as he climbed into bed after getting ready for sleep. Zuko laughed as he finished buttoning up his pajamas and put out the lamps.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, getting under the thick winter covers. Aang tugged him closer, and he complied.

“What a day,” Aang said just as Zuko was falling asleep. “Tell me the truth. Did you know?”

“Hmm?”

“About Liang. She has to be at least Kya’s age,” Aang speculated. “And you and Mai broke up in 110, so…”

Zuko was surprised that Aang knew that, but he didn’t comment on it. “No, I had no idea,” he said. “Honestly, I’m still shocked. Things were…not good between us toward the end. We shared beds very rarely.”

He could feel Aang scowl against his shoulder. Shaking off his drowsiness, Zuko leaned back so that he could see Aang’s face in the moonlight peeking through a gap in the curtains. He reached up to smooth the crease in his forehead.

“What is it?” he asked.

Aang shrugged and buried his face in Zuko’s shoulder again. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I just… I have not been jealous of Mai in many years. It feels something like slipping on a scratchy old cloak.”

Alarmed, Zuko tugged at Aang’s bare shoulder so that he could look him in the eye. “Jealous? Aang, surely you don’t think…”

“No, Zuko,” Aang said gently. “I would never doubt your fidelity. It’s just strange for me to see the evidence of you and Mai…” Shame crept into his voice. “Well, I did not expect Liang. That’s all.”

The confession soured Zuko’s mood greatly. “Now you know how I felt for the past twenty-five years,” he bit out.

“Zuko,” Aang tried. “I didn’t mean…”

“Yes, Aang, you did,” Zuko said tiredly, but this was fatigue of a different kind — deeper, harsher, and achingly familiar in the worst way. “You just admitted that you used to be jealous of Mai, and that your jealousy has reignited due to being confronted with evidence of our sex life. Well, let me assure you that there is nothing to be jealous of. Clearly Mai did not trust me enough to tell me about Liang until now, and I likely would not have trusted her either.”

“It’s not that,” said Aang, sounding like he was trying to tamp down his annoyance. “I’m just sad that we can’t have that — a child who is the living evidence of our love.”

Trying to calm his own temper, Zuko turned his back to Aang and spoke into his pillow: “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

Aang reached for him. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You asked, and I told you the truth.”

Zuko snorted and wriggled away from his touch. “You should know by now that I am not much a fan of the truth.” With a sigh, he added, “Let us sleep now. I imagine explaining everything to the council tomorrow will be a complete nightmare.”

He felt Aang sigh and curl up into the blankets on the other side of the bed.

Aang just didn’t get it, and Zuko was beginning to despair that he ever would. Aang spoke of jealousy like it was an irritant, like it was new. As if he had the right to be angry that Mai had been with Zuko once! As if his fractured relationships with Mai were even the slightest bit comparable to Aang’s lifelong commitment to Katara. Sad? Ha! Zuko had burned with jealousy for so many years that he had learned to live with it, grown into it, helplessly let its bitter claws sink into his heart; he had become one with his envy. What did Aang know about that kind of hurt? What did Aang know about that kind of pain?

It certainly wasn’t their first dispute since they had decided to be together, but it was the one that hurt the most. And it would be the first time they had gone to sleep without having resolved their anger and frustration.

*

Liang was twenty-eight years old and beautiful like a newly forged dagger with glinting edges. Her posture was proud, with a regal grace, and she always made direct eye contact when she spoke. She liked milk in her tea and seemed to have little care for formal etiquette, for which Mai scolded her at frequent intervals. She spoke as if she were accustomed to getting her way — humorlessly authoritative but lacking the entitled haughtiness bred into royalty.

Zuko was at a loss for how to feel or act towards her. She was without doubt his child (the gold eyes were too familiar to deny that), but he was her father in name only. A feeling of hollowness threatened to swallow him as they silently stared at each other across the small table Zuko had had set up on the balcony overlooking the mountains. Wisps of fog danced around the mountaintops in the distance. The crisp air was chilly but smelled like fresh winter. A tea set sat on the table between them, stalwartly trying to bridge the great chasm between them formed from all the years they had not known each other.

“Mother says you loved the Avatar long before you were with him,” Liang said. Her voice was carefully devoid of accusation, but to Zuko’s ears it sounded barely restrained. He bowed his head, staring at the elegant glass finish of the table.

“I have loved him for a long time,” was all that Zuko was comfortable admitting.

“It is obvious,” she said. “You gaze at him with not affection borne of familiarity but rather relief, as well as disbelief. You fought long to win him over.”

“He loves his wife very much,” Zuko said quietly, shame fluttering across his face as he tasted the bitterness of his words on his own tongue.

“Katara of the South Water Tribe,” Liang recited. “We learned it in history class, Father.”

Zuko nodded. The thought was strange — even stranger than his love life being the topic of overseas gossip. But maybe not as strange as being called father.

“They have children together,” Liang said. She seemed to have a habit of speaking in not-quite-questions, as if declaring that she was certain of her inferences and assumptions to the point that she did not need to ask.

“Yes,” Zuko said softly, remembering the last time Aang had visited with his children. “Kya, Bumi, and Tenzin.” He loathed Kya and Bumi for their boisterous, rowdy natures, but Tenzin was quiet and intellectual and always respectful of Zuko, unlike the other two. Zuko was really quite fond of him. He really, really hoped that Tenzin wouldn’t hold it against Zuko that his father had left his mother for him.

Liang smiled wryly. Zuko realized that he had yet to see a true smile grace her face. She was Mai’s, all right. “Then they are my stepsiblings of a sort.”

Zuko wrinkled his nose. “I suppose so, technically. You have to understand that I’ve never given thought to any of this coming to pass.”

Lian laughed sharply at his obvious discomfort.

“What do they do?”

“Uh…” Zuko said, trying to remember. “Tenzin studies at Republic City University. Bumi is in the United Forces — a general, I believe — and Kya is a real estate agent in the city.”

Liang nodded. “I always wished for siblings,” she admitted. “I do not make friends easily, and Mother refused to raise another, even though if Ma had her way, we would probably be a family of ten.”

Of course, Ty Lee came from a large family and would have expected that. Zuko could hardly imagine Mai raising one child; the thought of her raising multiple was so nightmarishly hilarious that he had to suppress his laugh with a cough. He nodded again, awkward.

“So what do you do? For a living?” He realized suddenly that he had no idea how Mai or Ty Lee made their living, either.

“I am an attorney,” she replied not without pride, sitting up straighter in her seat. “I prosecute on behalf of those who suffer at the hands of greedy industrialists.”

Zuko felt a strange surge of pride at that pronouncement. She had a passion for law enforcement as well as a knack for defending the helpless, then. A Fire Lord in the making. Mai certainly knew what she was doing. For a brief moment, Zuko wondered if she had raised Liang with the intention of usurping his throne. But no, Mai had never been power hungry or swayed toward revenge. It would require her to put too much effort into caring.

“It sounds like you have done well for yourself,” he said, and added, “and that you have a strong foundation for a potential ruler.” She bowed her head graciously. “Would you be interested in inheriting the throne?”

“I would be honored to help you in any way I can, Father,” she said. “But you must understand that I do not come here looking to usurp your authority.”

Zuko just observed her for a moment. Her eyes blazed with sincerity and determination, her expression fixed in steadfast conviction. For a moment, Zuko thought of Azula, but Liang bore no malice or condescension in her expression.

“Ordinarily, the heir apparent would already possess knowledge about court from living in the palace. There is much you will have to catch up on. Are you prepared to dedicate yourself to learning the ways of the court and the ways of the kingdom?”

Liang bowed her head. “Yes, Father. I am prepared.”

“Very well then,” Zuko said. “You will accompany me to the council meeting after lunch.”

*

To Zuko’s pleasant surprise, Liang was a natural. She spent her two days in council meetings silent and still as a statue, only her sharp eyes showing any indication that she was following the conversations. On the third day, she spoke up, reciting the three biggest corporations to the west, their executives, and their assets. On the fourth, she proposed a clever solution to satisfying the leaders of two warring villages in the south. On the fifth, with eyes glinting like melted gold, she argued with Jozon, Zuko’s most cantankerous councilor, and called him an out-of-touch curmudgeon whose refusal to lower the kingdom’s taxes on those who could barely feed themselves would doom the Fire Nation and Zuko’s rule. To be fair, Jozon had challenged her ability and knowledge of the workings of the kingdom, as well as accused her of being a United Republic sympathizer.

Zuko was impressed and very proud that Liang was not only intelligent but clearly a force to be reckoned with. He gave her a stack of books and documents to study so that she could prove her worth to anyone who dared challenge her. She accepted them with a solemn nod and though he had not declared any expectations, she said quietly, “I will not disappoint you, Father.”

And through it all, Zuko was shamefully aware that he was grabbing at straws trying to see himself in Liang. He had not raised her, as he felt a father should (his own had certainly stopped bothering after he was old enough to think for himself), and that filled him with profound regret.

He could see the roots of Mai in her — her stoic nature, the serious slant of her shoulders, and the way her smiles seemed to barely graze the surface of her skin. He could see Azula and Ozai in her — ferocity in the way she stared down her opponents and wild ambition in the confident upward tilt of her chin. And she seemed to have inherited Sozin and Azulon’s skill at strategy, which Zuko was happy to see her be able to apply to peace rather than war. Even Ty Lee’s kind heart had passed along to her — more often than not Liang’s arguments stemmed from a stubborn, almost idealistic, desire to protect the forsaken and the defenseless.

Yet he strained to see himself in her. She had his golden eyes, but so much composure. Zuko wasn’t sure he had as much composure as she did, and he was nearly twice her age. His councilors knew very well that his temper was short and his patience fleeting at best.

“I may have sired Liang, but I see so little of myself in her,” Zuko confessed to Aang as they practiced kata in the courtyard while morning dew still glistened on the shrubs around them. “Ty Lee is her other parent, not me.”

Aang gave him an amused, exasperated look. “Really, Zuko? She’s intelligent, iron-willed, fair, and compassionate behind all that bluster. When I speak to her, I feel like I’m speaking to a younger incarnation of you.”

Zuko blinked. “You’ve spoken to Liang? Alone?” He had been so caught up in everything that he hadn’t even thought about Aang and his daughter talking. He wondered if they had spoken of him, and if so, what had been said. It wasn’t like they had much else in common, after all.

“Well, yes,” Aang said. “Did you think I was just going to ignore her?”

“No,” Zuko said defensively, though he hadn’t really considered it at all.

“Good, because I’m not,” Aang said. “She’s interesting. Much more serious than my children. Perhaps she and Tenzin would get along.”

Zuko frowned. “I thought you were upset at her.”

Aang paused in the middle of a move and stood up ramrod straight. “I’m not upset _at_ her, Zuko,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice. “It’s hardly her fault that you and Mai were together.”

“Oh, so you’re upset at me, then,” Zuko said sulkily, mood suddenly gone sour.

Aang sighed. “No, I’m upset at the…situation,” he concluded lamely, shaking his head as if trying to physically knock the emotion out of his mind. “But I’ll deal with it.”

Zuko laid a hand on Aang’s shoulder, tightening his grip briefly. He couldn’t help the harsh tone his words took when he said: “I don’t _want_ you to just deal with it, Aang. We have both done too much of that in this life.”

Aang shrugged and looked away, though his hand came up to cover Zuko’s gently. “It’ll be okay. This was never going to be easy, right?”

“Yes, but I hate that this is coming between us,” Zuko admitted, “and that there is nothing I can do about it. I know you’re not happy about all of this, but I need an heir, Aang. You must understand that.”

“I understand it perfectly, Zuko,” Aang responded grumpily, and then he added more hesitantly, “and it’s not coming between us,” although he sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact. “She’s your daughter, Zuko. I’m not going to begrudge you the chance at having a family, especially not on the behalf of petty jealousies of trysts long past.”

Zuko bowed his head and turned his hand over to entwine his fingers with Aang’s. It was strange thinking of Liang as family. He had felt more connected to Azula even at the peak of her insanity, though he certainly _liked_ Liang better. And he realized that he wanted desperately for her to like him as well.

“Do you think she likes me?” he voiced quietly. It shamed him, admitting such weakness, but he remembered a time when he didn’t have Aang here with him all the time, offering a kind ear. If he didn’t trust Aang with such wild thoughts, then who could he trust?

Aang smiled, his thumb caressing the smooth, pale skin of Zuko’s hand reassuringly. “Just because you didn’t have a hand in raising her doesn’t mean she hasn’t been influenced by you. Do you know what she told me when I spoke to her the other day? She spoke of destiny and honor and of ruling with a fair and just hand. She quoted from your speeches — speeches that you gave decades ago. And Ty Lee told me that when she was a child, Liang used to eat up any and all books and documents about you and your actions in the war. She wrote her university thesis on you. You’ve been her hero all her life, Zuko. I don’t think you have to worry about her liking you.”

“All the more to live up to,” Zuko said, although he was humbled by the glimpse into what Liang really thought of him. Aang was likely exaggerating, but the sentiment was one that made warmth bloom in his heart. He thought about the way his life had, in his youth, hinged on his father’s approval and made a silent promise to himself to never begrudge Liang the love and attention she deserved, or to pressure her with unrealistic expectations and throw her failures cruelly in her face (especially not literally).

Then Zuko blinked as he processed the rest of what Aang had just said. “You talked to Ty Lee, too?”

The amused expression resurfaced. “Zuko, do you think the only person I talk to here is you? Ty Lee and I do have some uncomfortable feelings in common right now, you realize. And that is her child you are putting on the throne.”

“Have you spoken to Mai?” Zuko asked because he couldn’t resist. He ignored Aang’s subtle jab and felt a pang of guilty satisfaction when Aang shrunk into himself a little and looked ashamed.

“No,” he said. “I don’t know what we would say to one another.”

Zuko sighed, remembering all the years of painfully awkward, stilted conversations with Katara when Aang’s family visited the Fire Nation. In the later years, they had simply given up on trying to maintain the façade of friendship. It had been difficult enough when Katara didn’t trust him back during the war, but after Aang had come between them, trying to get along was just too difficult. Too much bitterness had been sowed in their relationship, and they were both too stubborn for their own good. Zuko had always suspected that Aang had told Katara about the night they spent together as well as the kiss years later, because the way Katara looked at him was much more intense than simple suspicion. He wondered how much she must hate him now for breaking up their family.

He wanted to feel bad, but to his shame, he couldn’t muster up the emotion. He tried his best to be fair, but being good was always a struggle.

“No, I suppose there isn’t really anything to say,” Zuko agreed.

After all, Mai had won, in a way, just as Katara had. She had mothered his child, raised his child, and though Zuko was much too old and tired to even think about raising children — that was something that Aang would never be able to give him.

Zuko could not help but think back to those all those lonely years and wonder how different things could have been if he had been a father rather than a sovereign growing bitter with loneliness and rejection. Then again, the way he and Mai were toward the end of their relationship — it would have done a child no good to be raised by parents who were barely civil to each other. Not for the first time in his life, Zuko felt a lingering jealousy curl in his belly at the thought of Aang and how he and Katara had been afforded the chance to see three children grow into themselves. But as he was accustomed to doing, he pushed the feeling away. It would do him no good now. He had Aang, and now Liang was here. He would make the most of what had been given to him and dwell no more.

*

Zuko tried to delay it for as long as he could, but seeing as he had given Mai and Ty Lee a home in his palace for as long as they wished to stay, encountering Mai alone and being forced to make niceties was rather inevitable.

They took tea on the same balcony that Zuko had first met with Liang, and the silence was no less awkward than it had been then, though the storied history added a heavy burden to it. Zuko refused to buckle under the pressure, but it was no easy feat with the way Mai was staring impassively at him, face unreadable.

“Are you angry with me for not telling you?” Mai said after a long, painful silence fraught with decades-old tension.

Zuko didn’t ask what she was referring to. There could be nothing else. “The time has passed for anger. There is only regret for having been deprived of the chance to raise my child.” He glanced at Mai, who raised an eyebrow. “Our child.”

“Ty Lee and I raised her well,” Mai said haughtily. Zuko had never seen such pride displayed so prominently on her face before. Mai had always been too proud to display her pride.

“I do not doubt it,” Zuko replied. “I simply wish I had been able to have some hand in it. She is a stranger to me, Mai. My own daughter is a stranger to me. She sees me as a king, not a father, and I don’t know how to speak to her to make her think otherwise.”

Mai didn’t reply for a long time. “She grew up worshipping you, Zuko,” she said, and again Zuko was surprised to hear bitterness in her voice. Ty Lee must have done wonders in the years since they had left the Fire Nation, tearing down Mai’s carefully guarded walls and calculated apathy. “While the other children played in the streets, Liang spent her time in the library, memorizing your speeches. As a child, all she spoke of was you. I fled this land to be rid of you, but there was no escape.”

“You could have kept my identity from her,” Zuko pointed out. “Why didn’t you?”

Mai narrowed his eyes at him. “Do not mistake my departure for shame, Zuko,” she said. “I loved you dearly. But our life together would only lead to ruin.” And here her voice grew quieter. “And a bitter, angry king is no king at all.”

Zuko digested this in silence, drumming his fingers against the warm porcelain of his teacup. For all their discord, Mai would have made a fine queen. She was intelligent, willful when she wanted to be, and possibly the most dignified person Zuko had ever known.

“I wanted her to know who her father was,” Mai said. “So that she would know her lineage and could be proud of it, and to set a precedent for her behavior. You would do well to appreciate that, Zuko.”

“I appreciate it plenty, thank you,” Zuko said, trying not to be annoyed.

“It’s not good enough,” Mai objected. You treat her as an heir, not a daughter, and you do not see her for her hopes and desires.”

“I know what I’ve seen,” Zuko said. “She is mine in flesh and blood but not in character. Honestly, I see more of Azula in her than I do of myself.”

Furious, Mai stood up and drew herself to her full height. “Do not compare my daughter to that woman!” she snapped, and Zuko really had forgotten how terrifying it was to witness the rare occasions when she raised her voice. He could nearly see the wild fire in her eyes. He lowered his head apologetically and wrapped his fingers around his cup as he gazed at the amber-colored liquid.

“Would you have kept her existence a secret from me forever if you had not heard that I lacked an heir?” he wondered aloud.

“Yes,” Mai said without hesitation. Her robes fluttered around her as she reclaimed her seat. “The Fire Nation will always be my home, and you have been a good Fire Lord, Zuko — a fair and just one who has led our people to prosperity. I came to ensure that your line would continue. I owe you nothing more.”

Zuko looked up and met her squarely in the eyes. “It’s not about what you owe me, Mai,” he said. “It’s about what you owe her.”

“I would give my life for Liang,” Mai said with conviction, indignation written clear on her face. “I love her more than anything in the world.”

“I know you would give her your life,” Zuko said softly. “But would you give her her father?”

Mai didn’t say anything, staring at the table as if trying to divine its secrets. A muscle in her jaw twitched, but still she remained silent.

“Do you think I’m going to steal her away from you?” he continued, annoyed when she showed no sign of responding. “She’s twenty-eight, Mai; she can make decisions for herself. She can and will judge me for herself. What the hell do you think you are protecting her from?”

“You know nothing about being a father,” she said finally.

“Correct,” he agreed. “Because you have never given me a chance to learn. Will you now?”

“I don’t know,” Mai said. “I just don’t know.”

*

Then, one afternoon, Zuko stumbled upon Aang and Liang bending together.

He had not even thought about questioning his daughter’s bending ability; he had simply expected it. The blood of the some of the greatest firebenders in history ran through her, after all. But it was clear that though Liang seemed to have the firepower, she was untrained and lacked control over the flames that burst out of the palms of her hands. She moved with the swift sharpness of practiced hand-to-hand combat, and Zuko remembered belatedly that neither Mai nor Ty Lee were benders — and that things were different in the United Republic.

He sat on the stone steps and watched them silently, doing his best not to alert them of his presence. Aang, always hyperaware of his surroundings, met his eyes and gave him a small smile without pausing his movements.

The familiar old pang of jealousy mingled with the nostalgia in his chest as he watched Aang show Liang the Dancing Dragon and how to incorporate it into her combat style. Aang spoke to Liang not only as a pupil but as if she were his child, demonstrating the gestures and correcting her posture in a paradoxically stern but patient manner. Just from the way he spoke to her, it was obvious that he was a good father — an experienced father. Zuko’s clumsy attempts at serving as a respectable role model seemed absurdly feeble and almost embarrassing in comparison. Not for the first time in his life, he wished that he had been given a chance to raise his own children.

There was a sudden flare of heat, and Zuko looked up as Liang leapt and flung a mighty fireball that just barely singed Aang’s eyebrows off. With a smooth and effortless motion, Aang put out the fire just before it struck a tree in the distance.

Zuko rose to his feet, clapping.

“Father!” Liang said in surprise, whirling around to stare at him in horror. “How long have you been there?”

Aang’s eyes twinkled as Zuko smiled gently at her anxiety. “Long enough to see that you will make a fine warrior, Liang.”

Looking down at her feet, she said quietly, “I have much to learn. I wish I had been schooled in firebending at a younger age, but in the city, bending is more a hobby than a way of life, and I have never had anyone with whom to practice.”

Zuko wondered at that and remembered Liang had said that she did not make friends easily. Perhaps it was the curse of all his ancestors and descendants. At least Zuko had always been able to comfort himself with the thought that princes and kings didn’t have friends — they had advisors, and servants, and subjects. And, well. He had Aang. And Liang had her parents. All of them.

“Be patient,” Zuko said. “You have plenty of people to practice with now, and with training and conviction, you will learn. I have faith that you will defend the Fire Nation honorably if the time ever comes.”

Liang lifted her chin and stood up straighter. “I only wish to be worthy, Father,” she said. “To make you proud.”

Zuko laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Dear child,” he said, the words so strange yet rolling off his tongue so easily, “you have already made me proud.”

*

That night at dinner, Mai kept glancing between Liang and Zuko and smiling fondly at him, her thin features lighting up in a way that he remembered from a very, very long time ago.

“Thank you,” she mouthed across the table toward the end of the meal, most of which Zuko had spent asking Liang about the cases she had taken on in her impressive career and praising her for all the ones in which she had been victorious. Zuko accepted Mai’s admission with a curt nod as relief flooded him from head to toe. Perhaps he wouldn’t make such a terrible father after all. Perhaps there was still hope.

*

Zuko’s heart raced in his chest, panic gripping him as he watched Aang move around their room.

“What are you doing?” Zuko demanded, eyes darting from the traveling bag on their bed to the armful of clothing Aang was gathering from the closet. Aang gave him a unreadable look.

“I’m going to visit my family,” Aang said, as if he were discussing the weather.

“What? In the United Republic? _Why?_ ”

“Do I really need to explain why I would miss my family?”

The repeated use of the word stung, though Zuko knew it was petty. “No, but you should explain why you would decide this all of a sudden without notifying me in advance.”

Aang gave him another veiled look, this one with a hint of anger. “You are not my keeper, Zuko. I will go where I please, when I please.”

“Yes, but,” Zuko trailed off, unable to argue against that logic. He certainly had no wish to keep Aang where he didn’t want to be. But the awful thought of Aang leaving made him sick to his stomach with fear. What if he didn’t come back? What if he decided that he had made the wrong decision after all? What if Zuko had to go back to that lonely, desolate existence after knowing how wonderful it felt to be really, truly loved?

Oblivious to his inner conflict, Aang sighed and shoved his clothing unceremoniously into the bag. “What is it, Zuko,” he said, and for the first time in the past two weeks Zuko heard the exhaustion in his voice.

“It’s just… I thought this was where you wanted to be.”

Aang scrubbed at his face. How had Zuko not noticed the bags under his eyes before? Guilt gnawed at him now that he couldn’t stop seeing them; he had been so caught up in his own tumult that he hadn’t been paying attention to the stress all this upheaval was taking on Aang. He was getting himself so worked up that he almost missed Aang’s reply.

“It is,” Aang said. “Of course it is.”

“But?” Zuko prompted, taking advantage of Aang’s distraction by retrieving the half-packed bag and clenching it tightly. Aang looked like he would rather be anywhere than having this conversation with him, and the thought of his reluctance to talk about something so important upset Zuko more than he would ever admit.

“I saw how she looked at you,” Aang said finally, yanking the bag from Zuko. “Like you were some wonderful gift to mankind.”

“Aren’t I, though?” Zuko joked, trying desperately to lighten the mood even though he felt like he was going to throw up any second. He had never been very good at joking. Aang didn’t even crack a smile. “Who, though? Who was looking at me like that?”

Aang gave him an incredulous look.

“Are you talking about Mai?”

“Yes, Zuko, I’m talking about your ex-girlfriend,” Aang said, rolling his eyes. Zuko hated that. Aang was never cruel like that. It was uncalled for and completely unfair.

“That was years ago!” Zuko retorted, unable to stop himself from shouting. “Decades, even! What the hell is your problem?”

Glaring, Aang poked him in the center of his chest, hard. “My _problem_ is that the mother of your child is hanging out in your palace, making snarky comments about our relationship and looking at you as if the spirits had personally sent you down from the heavens, while the mother of _my_ children is suffering because I abandoned her to be here, with you!”

“You can take your little guilt trip and shove it, Aang,” Zuko hissed. “I didn’t know it was such a hardship, being here with me. It’s not as if I forced you to leave Katara.”

“It’s not as if I had a choice!”

“You were the only one with a choice!” Zuko roared in outrage. “Katara and me, we were the one without choices! You think being around Mai is so hard? How do you think I felt all those summers when you brought your whole damn family here? How do you think I felt then, watching you and Katara kiss and hug and love each other so fucking openly and knowing that I would never have a chance? Seeing your children grow year by year and wishing I was the one raising them with you?”

“This isn’t about that,” Aang growled. “Don’t make this something it’s not, Zuko. You can’t begrudge me jealousy, you can’t! You think I want to feel this awful every time I watch you interact with Mai or Liang calls you ‘Father’?”

“You have no right to be jealous! After everything I’ve been through for you, _you have no right_.”

“You’re being ridiculously childish,” Aang shot back. “You seem to be deluded that because I was with Katara, your jealousy is somehow more legitimate! You fancy yourself some kind of twisted martyr just because you loved me through my marriage. I didn’t ask you to stay in love with me, Zuko, I didn’t! But you couldn’t help it, just as I couldn’t help being in love with _you_ despite everything. And you couldn’t help being jealous, just as I can’t help being jealous now! But your jealousy doesn’t nullify my jealousy! This isn’t something you can be righteous about!”

“Damn it, Aang,” Zuko swore. Damn him for seeing right through Zuko, and damn him for not being afraid to tell him like it was. Damn him for always being right, and _damn him_ for making Zuko feel contrite.

“I just need time,” Aang said, taking advantage of his speechlessness. “All this has happened so fast, and things had been going so smoothly, and I just… I need to sort things out in my head. I’m tired, Zuko, and I don’t want to fight with you like this. I don’t want to fight with you at all.”

Zuko didn’t dignify him with an answer, still wounded and furious.

“I just need to get away for a little while. Will you wait for me?” asked Aang. And in that moment, Zuko hated that he knew Aang well enough to hear the fear and trepidation in his voice. This would be so much easier if Aang weren’t…Aang.

Everything hurt, and Zuko could practically feel his energy drain out of him. So he just gathered up the last dredges of his ire and said viciously, “I’ve only ever waited for you like a complete idiot nearly my entire life. Why ever would I stop now?” before whirling out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, it’s been a while. I sincerely apologize for the delay, but I landed a full-time job and didn’t have much energy for writing while adjusting to the 9-to-6 life. But now I’m getting the hang of things and am looking forward to using my evenings more productively.
> 
> Also, after receiving some riled-up reviews, I wanted to clarify that the last chapter wasn’t intended to paint Aang in a bad light. Zuko’s POV is not always a reliable one, and I have no intention of writing a woobie Zuko, just as I have zero intention of bashing any characters. Don’t be so hard on Aang!
> 
> This chapter is heavy on the Mai/Ty Lee, and I’m posting the next interlude, which focuses on Aang visiting his family, very soon. In Chapter 3, we’ll get back to the Fire Nation and Aang/Zuko. Enjoy!

**_29 years ago, 110 ASC_ **

The curve of Ty Lee’s jawline was gentle and beautiful, her newly shorn hair spilling down moon-pale skin. Smelling like cherry blossoms and sex, she breathed softly into the silence of the modest bedroom they shared. Mai gazed at her in wonder, her arm warm and slightly numb under the weight of Ty Lee’s neck. Her other hand rested on her round stomach, a gesture she reverted to almost instinctively these days.

The baby was resting quietly tonight, a miracle she was grateful for. The child seemed to have inherited Zuko’s short temper, unfortunately. Mai hoped that wouldn’t give them too much trouble after he or she was born.

It had been eight months since they had left the Fire Nation capital, Mai losing her temper with Zuko for the last time before declaring that she was done.

For so long, she had believed Zuko to be the love of her life, until his on-and-off-again affections started to tear her apart. When she first began to suspect that the way he looked at Aang was more complex than gratitude for companionship, she had dismissed it as merely a phase. The two of them had been through so much together that she couldn’t hope to ever completely understand. Besides, the idea of the Avatar having any sort of inclination toward men had been absurd. And, more important, his devotion to the Water Tribe girl was legendary. Yet Zuko’s unrequited feelings seemed to blind him to anything else, including Mai’s love for him.

In the end, though, Mai had been blind as well. All her life, Ty Lee had been there for her, inappropriately cheerful and frustratingly beautiful, and most amazingly, her best friend through thick and thin. Though it was years ago now — another life, really — Mai still held dearly the memory of Ty Lee siding with her against Azula. She had supported Ty Lee’s joining the Kyoshi Warriors — even more so when Zuko had asked Ty Lee’s squad to remain in Capital City to act as an elite royal guard — although something had always irked her about how it seemed to garner Ty Lee even more admirers than usual. For years, it seemed that she never spent the night with the same person twice, and she seemed to enjoy it. Only after a barrel’s worth of wine and embarrassingly blatant flirting on Ty Lee’s part had Mai realized that there was the potential for so much more between them — that there always had been.

The decision to leave the Fire Nation hadn’t been easy. They had briefly discussed simply moving out of Capital City, but Ty Lee had been thirsting for the glamour and adventure that Republic City promised, and Mai had been desperate for a fresh start. Two weeks later found them on a ship traveling northeast, a half dozen trunks between them and the salty wind sweeping Ty Lee’s long, loose hair behind her as she beamed in excitement. Mai had still yet to regret it — especially when she found out that she was with child. It was then, when Ty Lee didn’t change her mind about establishing a new life together, that Mai had fallen deeply, irretrievably in love. Ty Lee’s candid benevolence was what she needed in her life, and Mai made a promise to herself to aspire to be worthy of that regard — to never drive Ty Lee into anyone else’s bed ever again.

The past months had been a mix of paradise and nightmare, as Ty Lee proved her loyalty by never losing patience with a grumpy, hormonal Mai and Mai struggled to come to terms with the fact that the baby she loved so dearly was Zuko’s; that he had sentenced her to never be able to escape him after all — even as she slept beside someone else at night.

With a sigh, Mai tugged Ty Lee closer. After years of feeling like Zuko’s second choice, she was fortunate to have someone she knew she could count on to support her. It would be foolish to ask for more.

*

****

**_24 years ago, 115 ASC_ **

The exhausting weeks after Liang’s birth were hazy in Mai’s memory. The newest member of their makeshift family brought with her a fair amount of stress and discord, as a weary Mai did her best to quell Ty Lee’s concerns following her admission that Liang’s blatant resemblance to Zuko made her uneasy and left her terrified that Mai would return to him. In the weeks that followed, Ty Lee threw herself into her job search, dismissing Mai’s insistence that they had enough money between them to live comfortably for years to come.

Though the two of them had little knowledge of how to raise a child — seeing as Ty Lee had been the baby of her family and Mai had never had to lift a finger when it came to her little brother — they did their best, Mai nursing Liang dutifully and Ty Lee delighting in playing with her. And when Liang showed signs of being a powerful firebender, they worked together to prevent her from doing too much damage (though Mai’s hair was singed more than once).

The years passed rapidly, Liang blossoming into a precocious child with a quick temper and insatiable curiosity. While most of her classmates played make-believe and chased each other joyfully in park playgrounds, she was enthralled by history books and war stories. She eagerly consumed any accounts about her father, whether they were favorable or critical. Mai became resigned to the pedestal that Liang placed Zuko upon when it became clear that nothing she said could discourage her daughter’s hero worship. She didn’t think it ever stopped making Ty Lee feel uncomfortable, though Liang made no secret of her love for her more cheerful, excitable mother, something for which Mai was infinitely grateful. She did wish Liang was more ladylike, but her stubborn daughter hated pretense, formalities, and dresses—all of which had structured Mai’s childhood so rigidly that she had difficulty allowing her own child to go without, even when they had no formal events to attend.

“Honey, your tea is getting cold.”

Pulled abruptly from her thoughts, Mai looked up from her checkbook to see Ty Lee leaning against the doorway of their modest kitchen. She was dressed in a little nightie that dipped low on her chest, and her bare legs were golden-pale in the kerosene lamplight. With a concerned look, she strode toward the table to wrap her arms around Mai. The comfortable and familiar weight eased some of the tension from Mai’s muscles as her hand rose to cover one of Ty Lee’s.

Mai would never admit it aloud, but sometimes she was still startled by her partner’s constant shower of affection. It had never been like that with Zuko — they had loved deeply but shown little intimacy toward one another outside of the bed. Mai had never been the most tactile of people, but Ty Lee was so comfortable in her body and in doling out physical affection that it had always seemed wrong to neuter that instinct.

“You okay?” Ty Lee murmured. “I put Liang to bed. She asked me to tell her about the founding of the United Republic again.”

“I’m fine,” Mai said. Ty Lee pulled back to frown disapprovingly at her.

“Mai…”

Sighing, Mai fiddled with the checkbook. “I just worry about her sometimes. This hero-worship of her father can’t be healthy, and she has few friends as it is.”

“She’s just a kid,” Ty Le reassured her. “She’ll grow out of it.”

Mai hmm’ed. “Do you think it’s wrong for me to keep her from him?”

Ty Lee kissed her forehead. “Mai, I love you, but don’t ask me questions like that.”

*

****

**_18 years ago, 121 ASC_ **

Liang didn’t grow out of it. Her fascination with the Fire Nation, the Hundred Year War, and her lineage only increased as she grew older — though she at least learned to be more tactful about it, and Mai learned to accept it, just as she learned to accept Liang’s complete disregard for upper class etiquette (though this she still blamed it on Republic City’s culture, so much louder and more uncouth than what she was accustomed to). Her daughter was smart and eloquent, and she studied hard and always did her chores. Mai could ask for no more.

Peeking in through the doorway, she watched Ty Lee lead her class in katas, limbs graceful yet strong, and swelled with pride. Their little self-defense studio, started in a warehouse in a seedy district, had grown into a proper martial arts dojo downtown, open to benders and non-benders alike. Many non-benders were eager to learn skills that would put them on more equal ground with benders, and any benders skeptical of what they could learn from non-benders were swayed when Ty Lee demonstrated her chi blocking prowess.

Mai never would have guessed that this was where the two of them would end up, but she had also never expected to be so happy. This family, the three of them — it was everything to her.

Gathering up the basket of sweaty discarded towels from the last two classes, Mai shuffled to the backroom, where the new washing machine had stopped rumbling and the tub of washcloths was waiting to be wringed and hung up to dry.

“Liang,” Mai said sternly. With a guilty look, Liang shut her book and stood to help. Mai caught a glance of the thick volume’s title as she set it aside: _When Astronomy and Warfare Collide: A Comprehensive Study of Sozin’s Comet_. 

“Must you read those morbid books?” she said as she started squeezing the well-steamed towels dry. “I wish you’d pick up some nice literature sometime.”

“ _Mother_ ,” Liang said in exasperation. She stepped outside briefly to the hang the towels on the clothesline and said through the screen door: “They’re interesting. Did you know that for years, Fire Lord Ozai had a team in the palace whose sole job was to nail down exactly when the comet would be appearing?”

Mai clucked in disapproval. “Doesn’t surprise me,” she muttered to herself.

“I wonder what it would feel like for my firebending powers to amplified like that,” Liang said as she brought in an armful of dry towels.

“Terrifying, I suspect,” Mai said. “All that power and nowhere for it to go.”

Liang stared at her hands. Mai thought of the time a frightened Liang had run home from school in tears because she had accidentally burned down half the playground when a classmate had taunted her. She was better at controlling it now, but sometimes, when her temper flared, so did her firebending. And her temper flared often.

“When I’m older, I’ll go see Father,” Liang said, “and ask him to teach me how to control it.”

Mai looked at her, long black hair swept up in a drooping ponytail, eyes amber and full of life, and wondered if it made her a bad mother to wish for Liang and Zuko never to meet.

*

**_11 years ago, 128 ASC_ **

****

As crickets chirped faintly in the distance, the midnight air hung stale around them, although Mai had just cleaned the house earlier that day. The streets outside of their tightly drawn shutters were eerily quiet. Sex had failed to take the edge off, despite their valiant efforts.

“I haven’t felt scared like this in so long,” Ty Lee confessed into Mai’s shoulder.

“I bet you could just chi block Yakone if he attacked you,” Mai pointed out, trying to lighten the mood, although she was shaken by the day’s events, too. She ran her fingers through Ty Lee’s hair idly.

“No, he’d get me before I could touch him,” Ty Lee said with a shudder. “That bloodbending stuff… It’s so creepy. Nobody should be able to do that, full moon or not.”

“The Council will get him. There are too many witnesses for him not to be indicted.”

“The paper said that he’s always been acquitted before,” Ty Lee pointed out.

“All the more reason for them to go after him harder,” Mai said.

“I hope so,” Ty Lee said, snuggling in closer. “You think Liang’s sleeping better than us?”

“I’m certain she’s more excited by the legal proceedings than she is scared of the defendant,” Mai scoffed, though she was secretly relieved that Liang had come home for the weekend. These days, she was usually too busy with her studies to visit, and Mai missed her terribly. Liang was usually good about writing letters to update them, but it simply wasn’t the same as having her around.

Ty Lee laughed. “You’re probably right. Hey, do you think she stopped seeing that guy she wouldn’t stop talking about last time?”

“She’d better have,” Mai grumbled. “He sounded like a complete pinhead.”

Snickering, Ty Lee said, “I love you. No one’s good enough for our baby, huh?”

“That’s right,” Mai said mock-sternly before kissing Ty Lee’s jawline. Ty Lee arched into her, smiling at her sultrily.

“Mmm, trying to distract me some more?”

“Maybe,” Mai murmured, mouth hot on the soft skin beneath her ear as her fingers danced down the supple spine. Ty Lee clutched her, making a satisfied noise.

“Glad you’re here, love,” she whispered.

Mai pressed their bodies together and kissed her fiercely.

*****

**_3 months ago, 139 ASC_ **

Mai stared at the newspaper, unable to truly comprehend what she was seeing. The headline above the fold blared **ROMANCE SPARKS BETWEEN FIRE LORD AND AVATAR** and in smaller block letters below it:  THE END OF A DYNASTY?

“After all this time,” she murmured as she skimmed the article, which divulged barely any details about the relationship and how it had come to be, and instead went on at length about Zuko’s councilors worrying about the issue of succession.

“See?” Liang said, poking the well-rendered illustration of the two war heroes. “I have to go see him! It’s my _destiny_!”

Mai rubbed her temples as Ty Lee snatched the paper out of her hand.

“I can’t believe it,” Ty Lee said. “I know you said Zuko was in love with him, but that was _years_ ago. Has he seriously been harboring that flame for this long? And Aang and Katara splitting up? I didn’t see that coming, not at _all_. Don’t they have children? What on Earth would prompt them to break up?”

Mai thought back on how certain she had felt that Zuko had been after someone who would never return his feelings, and wondered how she had missed it. It was easier to see it in retrospect, removed as she was now — how physically affectionate they had been, the mountain of inside jokes the two shared, how different their friendship was from Aang’s friendships with the others, the way Aang had looked at Zuko sometimes when he thought nobody was looking. Mai had been so upset by Zuko chasing a phantom love that she hadn’t noticed that the attraction might have gone the other way, too.

“Zuko, maybe,” she guessed.

“I mean, it’s kind of cool, isn’t it?” Liang said. “The Fire Lord and the Avatar… They’re suited for each other.”

Ty Lee frowned at Mai. “You don’t think Aang left Katara, do you?”

Mai shrugged. “Who knows? Their children must be at least…”

“Twenty-three, twenty-one, and eighteen,” Liang rattled off.

“He waited,” Mai realized, her hand rising to cover her mouth as she pondered the all implications. “He must have stayed for his kids and waited, and then left when they flew the coop.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Ty Lee said, eyes wide. She, like Mai, was probably thinking back to every memory with the three of them. What an unfortunate love triangle, and that wasn’t even counting the two of them. “You really think so? Oh, poor Katara…”

“Well,” Liang interjected. “Either way, I plan on going to see Father. He needs me.”

“Don’t speak of such nonsense,” Mai said sharply.

“Honey,” Ty Lee reprimanded gently, shooting her a look. “She’s right, though, Liang; I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Liang’s face pinched into an all-too-familiar angry expression. “No,” she said. “You can’t stop me. All these years, you’ve kept me from him, and him from me. It’s not your right — he’s my father and he deserves to know that I exist! He needs an heir!”

“What, because you think you can just waltz up to the Fire Nation palace and become Crown Princess?” Mai snapped. “What do you know of ruling? What do you know of royalty?”

“Nothing!” Liang shouted. The fireplace flared to life with a roar. “Nothing, because you’ve never let me. I just want to know him. I have friends, clients, whose fathers have died. And you know what I always think? At least they got to know their fathers. You’ve never given me a chance.” Ty Lee opened her mouth to protest, but Liang continued, smacking the table for emphasis, “I’m not stupid. Both of you are so fucking scared, so afraid to face the past that you can’t handle even the thought of him. What, do you think I’ll run away? You think he’ll steal me away from you? What is the worst that could happen?”

“Liang,” Mai said, keeping her tone even. “I think you need to leave.”

“I’m not a child,” Liang retorted. “You can’t just order me to my room and expect me to obey you.”

“I’m still your mother, aren’t I?” Mai snapped.

“You know better than to talk back, Liang,” Ty Lee said. “Apologize.”

Liang bit her lip and visibly took three deep breaths.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” she said. “But the sentiment remains. I plan on going either way, but I just thought… It would mean a lot if you came with me,” Liang said.

Ty Lee opened her mouth, but Mai repeated coldly: “Out.”

With a sullen glare, Liang stormed out, jet-black hair whirling behind her.

“She’s right, you know,” Ty Lee said, throwing the newspaper down on the kitchen table and beginning to pace the room. “Zuko does need an heir, or else his line will end. And we don’t have any right to stop her.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Mai asked. “Liang going to see Zuko? Spirits forbid, Liang inheriting the throne?”

“I don’t know; it depends,” Ty Lee said. Her back turned, she asked plainly: “Do you still love him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mai replied. “It’s been nearly thirty years.”

But Ty Lee knew her too well: “Answer the question, honey.”

Mai looked away, too. She thought about growing up with Zuko, fighting at his side, kissing him when the war ended. She thought about all her repressed anger toward him and how he had taken her back after the Avatar got married. She imagined Zuko and the Avatar together, happy.

“It doesn’t end, love for someone like Zuko,” she said.

When Ty Lee turned around, her eyes were beautiful and sad, and Mai caught them glimmering before they shut. She stood up and grabbed her partner’s hands before she could withdraw. “But I have no interest in being with him. Everything between us — that was years ago. I was a different person. I was a practically a child. And most important: I don’t want to be with anyone but you.”

“I know,” Ty Lee said, squeezing her hand. “Great spirits, I know that. I know _you_. And I know that this family means more to you than anything. But even after all these years… There are still times when I look at Liang and all I can see is the man who never got to raise her. Whenever I think about him, I get so confused. I feel guilty for raising his daughter; I feel guilty that she’s never met him; I feel guilty for being _relieved_ that she’s never met him.”

Grasping her by the shoulders, Mai said firmly, “Don’t. _You_ are her mother, Ty Lee. You raised her, you clothed her, you fed her, you played with her, you put up with her temper tantrums so much better than I ever did. I could not have done this without you. Please never doubt your place in this family. Zuko may be her father by blood, but he didn’t change her diapers, he didn’t hold her as she cried, he didn’t pay for her schooling. What is he to her? A fantasy, an imaginary hero. Nothing compared to you.”

Ty Lee nodded, though shame still colored her expression. “You’re right. I’m being stupid,” she said. “But please answer me this: Do you regret it, Mai? Do you ever regret leaving him?”

Mai cupped Ty Lee’s face in her hands, the skin only bearing the slightest texture characteristic of old age, and looked her straight in the eyes. “Never,” she whispered against her lips. “Please believe me. Not once.”

“Okay,” Ty Lee sighed, and she leaned into the kiss. “Okay, let’s go to the Fire Nation.”

Mai looped her arms around her waist and pressed their foreheads together tenderly. “Yes, I think we’ve waited long enough.”


	3. Interlude

**_Present day, 139 ASC_ **

The house looked the same as it always had, and it threw Aang off. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for everything to be the same. He supposed that in some strange way, when his life turned upside down, he had expected the world around him to follow.

He found Katara in the kitchen, stirring something in a massive pot as Kya set the table and Bumi chopped vegetables. Whatever they were making — Aang would guess five-flavor soup — smelled heavenly. The food at the Fire Nation palace was exquisite and made of the finest ingredients, but sometimes he just craved a homemade meal that didn’t include tongue-numbing spices that made his eyes water.

It was the serenity of the scene that gave Aang pause. “You all are getting along well.”

Katara glanced at him and said without heat, “A lot has changed since you left.” She frowned at Kya and Bumi and gestured at him. “Come now, give your father a hug.”

Aang’s eyes stung as Kya and Bumi embraced him. How was it that this felt worse than when the two of them had left for college, one after another? All the letters in the world couldn’t make him feel like he was a proper part of their lives. 

“I’ve missed you,” he said as he looked them over. Kya’s hair was tied in a traditional Water Tribe style that Aang hadn’t seen her wear since she was a child, and Bumi’s biceps were more enormous than ever.

“We missed you, too,” Kya said. “How’s the Fire Nation?”

“How’s grumpy Uncle Zuko?” Bumi pitched in. Aang glanced at Katara, but she was busying herself with the stew, back facing them.

“He’s good,” he said diplomatically. “He sends his greetings.”

“Father! You made it!”

At the familiar voice, Aang turned to see Tenzin in the doorway of the kitchen, looking surprised and delighted.

“Tenzin,” Aang said, sweeping his youngest son into a hug. “It’s great to see you.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tenzin replied.

“Me too,” said Aang, smiling. “Me too.”

*

By the time they finished their meal, the sun was well on its way down the sky. The children cleared and washed the dishes while Aang and Katara rested on the rocking bench in the front yard. Seeing Katara shiver a little despite the shawl around her shoulders, Aang lit the heat lamp with a wave of his hand. She thanked him with a smile.

“You’ve gained some weight,” Katara observed lightly. “They must be feeding you well at the palace.”

Aang poked his belly self-consciously. “I guess so,” he admitted. “It’s nothing compared to your cooking, though, I promise.”

Katara laughed a little, clearly pleased. “I sincerely doubt that, but thank you.”

Sighing, Aang fidgeted with his sleeve. Dinner hadn’t been too bad, with the children as a buffer, and for a moment it had felt as if the past three months had never happened, but this awkward distance between the two of them was too alien. It was so much easier to communicate through words scribbled on paper; here, he had to look both his wife and his own demons in the eye. Luckily, Katara was willing to try to bridge that gap:

“So, besides the food, how is the Fire Nation? How is Zuko _really_? You were pretty cryptic in your last letter.”

Aang shrugged, uncomfortable. “We hit a rough patch. He… You won’t believe it, but Mai and Ty Lee came back.”

“What?” Katara said. “Really? They moved to Republic City, didn’t they? That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Aang said. “But Mai must have been pregnant at the time, because she showed up at the palace with Zuko’s daughter.” Katara gasped, and Aang nodded grimly. “Yup.”

“Oh…” Katara said, realizing something all of a sudden. “Is she going to inherit the throne?”

“Eventually, yeah, that’s the idea.”

“What’s she like?”

“Smart,” Aang reported. “Serious. Kind of intense. But you can tell she has a good heart.”

“Wow,” Katara said, shaking her head. “Zuko has a daughter. I can barely believe it.”

“Me neither,” Aang muttered. Katara gave him a sharp look.

“Is that what you’re fighting about?”

“No,” Aang said, then corrected himself. “Yes. Kind of, I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Is it really, though?”

Aang both loved and hated how perceptive Katara could be. "I guess we still have a lot of issues to resolve. Things that have built up over the years. Problems that we were never able to address before."

"You'll work it out," Katara reassured him. Aang winced.

"You don't have to do that, Katara," he said. "It's messed up that I'm telling you any of this anyway."

But Katara took his hand and squeezed it warmly. She looked tired but as beautiful as always, big blue eyes kind in spite of what he had put her through. "I'm still here for you, Aang; that's not going to change after all these years."

"I know," Aang said. And he did, even if it made him feel like a crummy person to accept sympathy from someone he had wronged. "Thank you," he said anyway. Then, eager to change the subject, he asked, "What about you? What have you been up to? It seems like you and Kya are getting along better. Is Bumi on shore leave for long? Has Tenzin heard back about that research position?"

As he listened to Katara talk, with the muffled background sounds of his children conversing inside, he pondered the strange feeling in his gut, the warring instincts of this being home and of suddenly missing Zuko desperately. Katara was right: a lot had changed. Was there any way to reconcile the conflicting twin feelings, or had the choices he'd made doomed him to feeling forever torn?

“What are you and Zuko really fighting about?” Katara said suddenly. “I know you care about what I’m saying, but you’re a million miles away, Aang.”

Sighing, Aang shook his head. “There’s no one thing. He’s just… He’s still so bitter, and I feel like nothing I do can make him see that I’ve chosen to be there. Sometimes being with him is so easy, and other times, I just want to grab him and shake some sense into him. Loosen his obsession with the past. And having Mai around—and his _kid_ —it just feels weird.”

“But you have nothing to be afraid of with Mai,” Katara said reasonably. Aang wrung his hands in frustration.

“Of course not. I know. I know that, rationally! But it’s just hard, seeing them getting along, parenting their child…”

“You do realize that Zuko probably knows what that feels like.”

Aang frowned. “He said the same thing.”

“You listen to me,” Katara said in her no-nonsense tone. “Zuko loves you more than anything. It was obvious to me years ago and it’s obvious now. We had almost forty years together, Aang. I wanted it to be for a lifetime, but I gave it up so that you could have this. Don’t squander it. Please.”

Aang sighed and looked at her — _really_ looked, remembering how young she had been when they had fallen in love — and wished he could have been better for her. “All right,” he conceded.

They talked long into the night, the way they hadn’t had the chance to since the children had come along. Later, when the temperature outside plunged and the small flame warming them faded, Katara showed Aang to his guest room and retired to their old bedroom. Watching her shut the door across the hall, he mused on how odd it was to feel like a stranger in his own home, before returning to the living room.

In the top drawer of the table beside his old beloved armchair, he found his stationery right where he had left it. The thought of some things remaining the same grounded him. The things that mattered were still the same: Katara was a wonderful, stabilizing force in his life; his children were independent, accomplished individuals who (mostly) respected their parents; and his family loved him in spite of what he had done to them. And Zuko… Zuko, after all this time, still wanted him. Still stared at him with wonder as they talked politics over tea; still laughed like a dork when Aang teased him about silly things; still touched him like he was afraid to let go; still fell asleep and awoke smiling at him, full of unadulterated hope in those fragile hours.

As a healthy fire crackled in the fireplace, Aang put his brush to paper and began to write.


	4. Chapter 3

**_Present day, 139 ASC_ **

A week and a half after Aang left, Zuko received a letter — an unremarkable sheet of parchment folded into thirds but bearing the creases of worried fingers. Five words were painstakingly penned in its center:

_I’m sorry. I love you._

Zuko’s hands shook as a pang of regret shot through him. He reached for a piece of paper from his stationery, the royal seal of the Fire Lord emblazoned on the top. With a heavy heart, he dipped his pen into the already dampened inkwell and wrote:

_I’m sorry, too. Please come home soon. Everything is dimmer without you._

Though diminished in vibrancy, life continued in spite of Aang’s absence. Liang continued to prove that she was a valuable asset as well as a suitable successor, though Zuko began to see more evidence of her unruly temper. She didn’t say anything about Aang disappearing, but Zuko saw her continue to practice firebending in the same spot at the same time as she had with Aang. Without his guidance, though, she became easily frustrated. Mai became more withdrawn and always seemed to have something to say on the tip of her tongue, but whatever she had to say about Aang was never spoken. Unexpectedly, Ty Lee was the one who remarked on Aang vanishing without another word.

“You have to let him have his space,” she said out of nowhere one day when she caught Zuko in the hallway on his way out of the throne room and began to walk with him. “Us being here… It’s uncomfortable.”

“I know that,” Zuko snapped. “I’ve experienced it plenty with _his_ family.”

“Maybe,” Ty Lee said, “but look, you still hold it against him. He’s trying not to hold it against you. He loves his kids, Zuko. You can’t begrudge him that.”

“I’m not,” Zuko said. “Believe me, I’m not. I don’t have anything against him seeing them. He wouldn’t be Aang if he wasn’t a good father. But he’s only using them as an excuse to run away. It’s always been like this between us. Once things get too real, too harsh, he dives back into his family life, as if it can wash away all the guilt and bad feelings.” Quieter, he said, “I just thought we were over that.”

“He’ll come back,” Ty Lee said faithfully.

“I know,” Zuko said, anger escaping him like air from a deflated zeppelin. “But I want him to stay. I want to know that he’ll stay when things go south.”

“Things will never be perfect,” said Ty Lee. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t be good.”

Zuko looked at her, at the years in her eyes despite her vitality. He thought about her and Mai and how he now realized that they were always going to end up together. And for the first time, he thought about how Ty Lee must have felt, raising his child. But then again, Liang was hardly his child — he didn’t even know her favorite food or what she looked like when she laughed without reserve.

“Sometimes I think that the war messed us all up,” Ty Lee said. “Blinded us to what we needed, overshadowed it with what we thought we were supposed to want, in our desperation to establish a new, perfect status quo.”

“Maybe,” Zuko said, but he thought about the way Aang always looked at Katara and didn’t agree at all.

Ty Lee laughed a little. Zuko remembered a time when suitors came calling at that joyous sound; there was a part of him that still could not believe Ty Lee had settled down, even though it was so obvious that she and Mai were good together.

“Or maybe you’re still wandering blind,” Ty Lee said not unkindly.

Zuko frowned at her, annoyed. “Being cryptic doesn’t suit you, Ty Lee.”

Smiling coyly, she shrugged. “Just think about it.” And with that, she winked and flounced off, leaving Zuko puzzled and even grumpier than before.

*

“You miss him,” Liang said.

Tapping the smooth surface of his teacup, Zuko pursed his lips. “I got used to his presence too quickly,” he admitted.

“Why him?”

Zuko narrowed his eyes at her. “Why not?”

Liang stared back just as confidently. “I’m not questioning your choice; I’m genuinely curious. Have you always loved him?”

“Yes. And no.”

Sipping her tea in distinctly unladylike gulps, Liang waited patiently for him to elaborate.

“Before we were friends — back when I was hunting him down — I hated him. The more he eluded me, the more I loathed him. But he was my driving force. To me, he was my salvation, the only way I could redeem my honor. He was…everything.”

“He remained so,” Liang said.

“What?”

“He did end up being your salvation, didn’t he? Later. He helped you regain your honor in a different way — by fighting Grandfather, by righting the wrongs committed by Fire Nation imperialism, by leading the people out of a time of darkness.”

“Yes,” Zuko said softly. “That he did.”

“Mother said he’s good for you,” Liang added.

“Did she now?” It was bizarre to think of Mai remarking on him and Aang at all, much less giving them her stamp of approval. Zuko wondered what Aang would think. Would it alleviate the tension between them? Or was there simply too much baggage there?

“Yes,” Liang said. “I think he is, too. I like him a lot, Father. I’ve never thought of the Avatar as a person just like the rest of us, but sometimes when I’m with Aang, I forget that he’s the Avatar at all.” She paused and then added, “Have you ever thought about having children together?”

Surprised at the question, Zuko couldn’t help but laugh. “I think we’re much too old for that. Besides, two men… How would it even work?”

“It’s not unheard of,” Liang insisted. “Couples in Republic City adopt all the time. I’ve even heard of some people managing spiritual births. Your love is certainly strong enough…”

Zuko shook his head. “Save your imagination for strategy meetings, child. Aang has enough children to take care of, and I have you now. We don’t need anything else.”

*

Yet his mind seemed to latch onto the idea. What would it be like to raise a child with Aang? 

Aang was so good with his kids, and Zuko knew next to nothing about them. Would he be useless? Would he eventually learn?

What would it be like to share that kind of magic with someone — the creation of a life? The joint responsibility of caring for that life, something so unbelievably unique shared between them — the allure was undeniable. Irresistible, even.

And if Zuko discreetly requested for a survey of books on spiritual births to be brought to him, it only meant that he was intent on satisfying his curiosity, so that he could put the matter to rest.

Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else.

*

Zuko was responding to a correspondence with Governor Ma of the Tian Huo province when he heard a familiar knock on the door — one rap and then two quickly in succession. His heart stuttered in his chest.

“Come in,” he called, dropping his stamp and clambering unsteadily to his feet. The door opened, revealing a nervous-looking Aang in his winter robes. He wore his traveling pack on his back and an apprehensive look on his face.

“Hello,” Aang said, and before he knew what he was doing, Zuko was rushing toward him.

“You came back,” he breathed, relief washing over him as they embraced. Aang was warm and solid in his arms and tasted like the crisp air after a storm. 

“What?” Aang murmured into the kiss. “Of course I did. I said I would. Did you think…?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Zuko mumbled, cupping Aang’s face in his trembling hands. He knew it was irrational, but even though it had only been three weeks, part of him had truly feared that Aang was running away for good. The fragility of their new relationship, despite all their years of knowing each other, tormented him. “You’re back. I’m so glad you’re back.”

“I missed you, too,” Aang said gently, stroking the dark circles beneath Zuko’s eyes in concern. “You haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Zuko blurted out. “I don’t want to be difficult anymore. I don’t want to fight with you. I’ll give you anything you need. I just want us to be happy.”

Aang shook his head and silenced Zuko with a finger to the lips. “I’m happy. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy. I’m sorry I lost sight of that.”

Zuko buried his head in Aang’s neck, breathing in his familiar scent. He wished he could stay there forever, Aang comforting presence enveloping him and rendering the rest of the world irrelevant.

“I know I haven’t always treated you fairly, but I intend to make up for all of that,” Aang said quietly, cheek pressed against Zuko’s tightly wound hair and arms squeezing Zuko’s waist. “I swear, I plan on spending the rest of my life proving to you that I’m here to stay.”

Zuko kissed his neck sweetly before pulling back, though he entwined their fingers, loving the sensation of Aang’s firm hands. “Okay,” he said, and couldn’t resist drawing Aang into another kiss, this one firm and possessive. “Do you want to see the turtle ducks?”

Smiling, Aang said, “Lead the way.”

*

“I never meant to worry you.”

From where he was sitting, Aang’s feet in his lap as they read by the light of the kerosene lamps, Zuko caught sight of the serious crease in Aang’s eyebrows and frowned. The book in Aang’s lap was still open to the same page as it had been half an hour ago.

“No, you were right,” Zuko said, setting aside his book. It was easier to admit it here, with his face shaded by the dim lights and Aang resting so comfortably, reassuringly, beside him. In the stark daylight in the hours immediately following Aang’s return, neither of them had wished to disrupt their mutual relief by rehashing their argument, but it was necessary. As much as Zuko hated fighting with Aang, he had to accept that ignoring the problem would only exacerbate the deep-seated issues, and he’d had enough of those getting in the way of his life. “I have no right to keep you from your family. I’m not your keeper,” he said, remembering Aang’s angry words, “and I have no wish to be.”

“You don’t,” Aang agreed. “But it was immature and petty for me to hold Mai and Liang against you. Any jealousy I feel — I have no right to blame you for it.”

The next words were harder for Zuko to say: “And you have as much of a right to be jealous as I do.”

“But I will endeavor not to be, because there is no reason for it,” Aang promised. He withdrew his feet and scooted closer to Zuko, eyes downcast. “You know, it’s funny — I had it in my head that I’d abandoned Katara and the kids, but visiting them, I discovered… They were doing perfectly fine without me.”

Putting his arm around Aang and tugging him close, Zuko said firmly, “Not due to any deficiency on your part,” to stop that train of thought in its tracks. “Only because they’ve grown up: they’re adults now who can take care of themselves — a large part of which is due to how good of a father you have been to them.”

Aang digested this silently. “And Katara?” he asked uncertainly.

“Katara and I have never been the closest of friends,” Zuko said, which was somehow both an understatement and nowhere near an accurate way to sum up their complex relationship, “but I know she wouldn’t have let you go unless she believed it was the right thing to do — and if she truly wanted it for you.”

Squeezing his hand, Aang rested his head on Zuko’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered.”

Zuko hesitated before speaking again. He was too accustomed to keeping his insecurities to himself, burying them beneath layers of commitment to duty and always putting on his best face in front of others, but there was no need for that now, not here, with the man he trusted above all.

“I wish I had had a hand in raising Liang,” he confessed. “I have come to see more of me in her, but it still fills me with regret that we didn’t meet until so late in her life. She’s twenty-eight now, smart and strong and financially independent. What good is a father to her now?”

“Did finding your mother matter any less because you were an adult?”

Stricken, Zuko looked askance at Aang. All these years later, that particular adventure of theirs was still a sensitive topic, and one that Aang knew not to bring up often. When the shock subsided, though, Zuko couldn’t deny that Aang had a point. “Not in the least,” he admitted.

“So don’t worry about the past,” Aang said soothingly. “Be a good father to Liang now. That’s what matters. You and me. Liang. Mai, and Ty Lee. Here, now.” And then more quietly, to himself: “Katara. Kya, Bumi, Tenzin. Here, now.”

“Here and now,” Zuko echoed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah.” Closing his exhausted eyes, he pressed a kiss to Aang’s forehead in gratitude.

*

“Zuko, what is this?”

Aang was holding up one of Zuko’s newly acquired books on spiritual births. Oh no. Oh, spirits. Zuko had forgotten all about those since Aang’s return. His mind raced for an acceptable excuse.

“Um,” he said stupidly, “a book?”

Narrowing his eyes, Aang glanced dubiously at the title once more and said, “Brushing up on childbirth?”

Zuko laughed nervously, grabbing for the book, but Aang held it out of his reach.

“What’s this about?”

"It's nothing," Zuko lied, throwing it back on his desk and burying it under a stack of tax documents. "Just one of Liang's outlandish ideas. Babies brought into existence through spiritual connection alone, without the need for a carrier. It's amazing, the things they teach in Republic City. Nonsense, really."

Aang gave him a look. "I'm not buying it," he declared, and Zuko sighed. He wished the ground would open up and eat him alive so he could avoid this entirely too embarrassing conversation. Aang knew him much too well. "Out with it, Zuko," he said. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Zuko sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "Liang suggested that we look into spiritual births, and it sounded crazy, but then I was curious — _in a purely academically sense_ — so I had some books sent. That's all. Nothing nefarious, I swear."

Zuko winced at his lame explanation, expecting to be ribbed about this for, oh, the rest of his life, but when he looked at Aang, the expression on his face was one of surprise and wonder.

"You want a child? With me?" he said after a long silence, as if he couldn't believe it.

"Well," Zuko said awkwardly, "it was just a fleeting thought. No need to worry. Or jump to conclusions or anything. You know, we should really just forget about it altogether."

But completely ignoring what he said, Aang blurted out, "I want to do it."

Zuko did a double-take. "What?"

"Let's do it: let's have a child."

Completely mystified, Zuko frowned and scrutinized Aang's lit-up face. His eyes were wide and earnest, his smile hopeful. This was not the reaction he had expected.

"You're serious?" Zuko asked, unable to disguise the trepidation in his voice. 

"If it’s possible, and you want it, then yes, absolutely."

His mind racing, Zuko thought about the warmth that swelled within him whenever Liang called him father. The regret he felt for not having had a hand in raising her, for being absent in her life. The sadness he felt at all those years of not even knowing of her existence, while she, Mai, and Ty Lee grew into a happy family. The loneliness he had endured all those years, responsible for all the citizens in his nation but lacking personal connections to any of them. The sympathy he had felt when Liang had expressed her sorrow at not having siblings. The jealousy he had nursed all those years when Aang had brought his family to visit, when he and little Tenzin had engaged in conversations about art and philosophy and Zuko had spoiled him with books, sugary treats, and stories about Aang in his youth.

And not for the first time in the last couple of weeks, he thought about raising a child with Aang; about getting to shape a child’s destiny, about sharing the responsibility with the man he loved, about caring for someone the way his mother had cared for him, about proving that he could be a better father than Ozai had ever been, about loving someone who loved him back unconditionally.

“Yes,” he said, pulling Aang into an embrace. “Yes, I want that.”

*

“Your firebending has improved immensely.”

Across the table, Liang smiled graciously, much more openly than she had when she first arrived. They were taking tea outside again, and although Zuko still felt awkward with her and suffered doubts about himself, things between them had slowly grown significantly less formal and stilted over the recent weeks. He found himself looking forward to these times with her, when they would take afternoon tea and discuss national matters and whatever else came up. Liang was not one for small talk, but sometimes when Zuko was weary of politics, they would play Pai Sho.

“Aang is an exceptional teacher,” she said. Zuko smiled, remembering the days when he had been _Aang’s_ firebending teacher. “I still have a lot to work on, but already I feel much more in control of my abilities.”

“That’s great,” Zuko said. “We should spar sometime.”

“Really?” Liang asked in excitement, promptly abandoning any pretense of dignity. “To test my skills against the most accomplished firebender of all time? That would be amazing!” Then, catching herself, she added, more calmly, “I mean, it would be an honor, Father.”

“You flatter me,” Zuko chuckled. “I look forward to it.”

Liang was doing a terrible job of suppressing her excitement, and Zuko found himself still surprised at how such a little thing could make his daughter so happy. He hated to ruin her good mood, but he had been putting off talking to her about his and Aang’s plans for too long.

“Liang,” he said, “growing up, did you ever… Did you ever feel angry about my absence?”

Liang’s smile faded, and the mask she slipped on was uncannily like one of Mai’s. “It was a struggle at times,” she admitted quietly. “The other children were relentlessly cruel about it. They teased me for being illegitimate and insulted Mother for having me out of wedlock, for raising me without a father, and for living with another woman. They never believed me when I claimed that you were my father. Sometimes I held it against Mother for taking me away from you, and for not telling you about me. Other times I blamed you for abandoning us. Yet the more I studied about you, the more I could not reconcile my anger with the man you clearly are — a responsible, caring leader who has done so much good in such difficult times. I know my mothers were alarmed by my interest in Fire Nation history and your role in it, but looking back, I realize it was how I dealt with my conflicting feelings.

“Father,” Liang continued, sounding less sure of herself, though Zuko couldn’t imagine why, “emotions are far from my strong suit, but know that although it hasn’t always been easy, I grew up in a stable household never wanting for love, and being with you now is beyond my wildest dreams. I don’t ask for anything more.”

Zuko was suddenly reminded of Aang, and of his promise to himself to focus on the present and try his best to let go of his bitterness about the past. Liang was right: it hadn’t been easy, but in the end, his destiny had lined up with Aang’s, and he could ask for no more. To be here, Fire Lord and father and lover — it was enough.

“I appreciate that more than you will ever know,” he said to his daughter. Liang smiled again, more shyly this time. “I hope you will keep that in mind when it comes to what I’m about to tell you.”

“Father?”

“I took your advice,” Zuko said, nervous even though logically he knew that it was Liang who had put the idea into his head in the first place. “I looked into spiritual births — and Aang and I have decided to go through with it.”

“Oh!” Liang exclaimed, looking as if she couldn’t decide whether to be shocked or excited. “Oh, Father, that’s wonderful news.”

Unbelievably relieved, Zuko gave up all pretense of hiding his excitement. “I’m glad you think so. I would never want you to have reason to feel envious of the child.”

Liang shook her head vehemently. “I would never hold that against my brother or sister. If it is acceptable… I would like to help care for him or her. I have always wished to be a part of a big family.”

Surprised and pleased, Zuko said, “That would be lovely. After all, I suspect that Aang and I will need all the assistance we can get.”

*

They journeyed for three days, traversing rivers and hiking into the mountains. Zuko insisted traveling on horseback with Aang, but his royal guard — composed of Kyoshi Warriors and the few soldiers who had proven to be their equals — followed behind at a distance, unwilling to let him go. Though it was far from true privacy, Zuko savored the opportunity to spend time alone with Aang, uninterrupted by meetings and responsibilities, and it seemed to make Aang happy as well.

They gathered firewood and bathed in rivers, sharing memories of days long past and creating new ones together. Aang laughed freely and often, which made Zuko deliriously happy. Sometimes they clasped hands like teenagers just to be close. On the second night, they made love underneath the blanket of the stars, Zuko arching into Aang’s warm touch as Aang whispered tender words in his ears.

“I love you,” he murmured against Zuko’s cheek before kissing the scar with reverence. As he sighed in pleasure, Zuko knew there was nowhere in the world he would rather be.

*

The magician they found looked nothing like a magician. Plain-faced, flint-eyed, and dressed in burgundy-colored robes, he had shaggy dark hair peppered with white and a kind smile. He looked no different than any other Fire Nation villager Zuko had ever seen, but he answered to the name Zuko had been provided—Shen Mi Mu.

Though Zuko found himself instantly skeptical, Aang didn’t bat an eye. Then again, Aang had saved the world as a twelve-year-old boy, so maybe Zuko should know better than to judge by appearances.

“I won’t waste your time by mincing my words, your honors,” Shen said frankly after they had explained why they had come to him. “A spiritual birth requires a very strong connection to the Spirit World, as well as a very strong bond between the parents. People often fail. It can be an arduous and trying experience.”

Aang glanced at Zuko and said, “We’ve been through some of those. I think we’ll do okay.”

“Yes, your being the Avatar should facilitate the process, though there’s no record of any Avatar attempting it. You must not become discouraged if it takes multiple tries.”

Zuko reached for Aang’s hand. “With respect, sir, we’ve studied the subject extensively. We know that you are the most highly recommended magician when it comes to these matters. As long as you are discreet and get the job done, we’re prepared to do whatever we need to do.”

Shen smiled, showing off crooked teeth. “Well, I can’t argue with that, your majesty. I’ll explain just how we’re going to do this, and we’ll get you started.”

*

Aang and Zuko stared at each other. They were kneeling on the floor, on a thick, soft red mat that had been laid aside for them. The fire in the hearth crackled happily beside them and shed a golden cast on everything in the cozy room. The very foundations of the room seemed to thrum with warm energy.

“Well,” Aang said, clearing his throat and reaching for the ties of his robes, “I guess we should get started.”

Zuko winced. “Are we really doing this? Here?”

Aang shrugged, though he looked about as uncomfortable as Zuko felt. “Shen said it was the best way to establish our bond and connect with the Spirit World at the same time. And it _is_ how babies are normally made.” He laughed nervously and said, “It’s not like we’ll be the first to do it here.”

“That’s what’s most disturbing about it!” Zuko exclaimed. Aang laughed, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude,” he teased. “Not twenty-four hours ago, we made love on the dirt ground, and if I remember correctly, you had no shame then.”

Zuko blushed as he remembered taking Aang by the firelight, eyes drinking in the sight of his curved back and the faded curls of his scar. Wrinkling his nose, he argued, “But that wasn’t in someone else’s home, where dozens of other couples have probably done it…”

Discarding his topmost layer of clothing, Aang scooted closer and clasped his hands on Zuko’s shoulders. “Darling,” he said, “think of all the possibilities here. Think of a child — _our child_. It’s worth a little embarrassment, isn’t it?”

Zuko bowed his head. “Yes,” he said softly before initiating a kiss.

There were times when their ages showed as they made love, but this was not one of those times. Aang kissed every inch of Zuko, pressing hot fingers into his skin and all the right places. Zuko savored every sensation and returned the favor by swallowing Aang down enthusiastically, loving the way he could make Aang’s careful control fall apart with a devilish swirl of his tongue.

By the orange firelight, Zuko braced his hands on Aang’s strong chest. Twin moans reverberated in the small room as he lowered himself onto Aang, and the fire flared with a healthy roar.

“Love you love you love you,” Aang murmured as he met Zuko mid-thrust. Zuko’s eyes stung inexplicably even as he cried out in pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” he said. “I love you so much.”

They kissed passionately and moved languidly, as if they had all the time in the world. When they were both close — Zuko could tell by the way Aang’s grasp around him tightened — Zuko whispered, “Now, sweetheart,” and Aang’s eyes filled with near-blinding light as he entered the Avatar state. He vibrated with energy, the heat and power seeping into Zuko’s being as white-hot pleasure. Their steady pace quickened, and they clung to each other desperately as they crested the arc together.

The floor around them lit up with swirls of gold, humming softly and emitting warm light. Their souls danced together until they blurred into one.

*

Bursting with thrill and joy, Zuko smiled at Aang the entire trip back to the palace.


	5. Chapter 4

**_20 years ago, 119 ASC_ **

As the years passed by, Aang’s trips to the Fire Nation became both a blessing and a curse. While Zuko was always ecstatic to see his friend—especially when the weight of the crown bore down on him—the visits were also a bitter reminder of the life Aang had chosen to lead. And this time, he found himself confronted with not just one precocious child but two beautiful children who resembled their parents in a way that stung fiercely.

“I guess I should say congratulations,” Zuko said as he hugged Katara and kissed her on the cheek.

Aang beamed. Katara glared at him, hand on her swollen stomach. She was five months along now, if Zuko was remembering correctly.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself,” she complained. To Zuko, she confided in a stage whisper, “He’s been unbearable since we found out about number three.”

Zuko laughed. “Well, if the next one is anything like his brother and sister, you’ll certainly have your hands full.”

As if on cue, Kya tugged on Katara’s skirt and whined, “I’m bored, Mom. Can we go see the turtleducks now?”

“Yeah!” Bumi agreed loudly, jumping up and down. “I want to see the turtleducks! Can we, Mom? Can we?”

Aang tugged them away from Katara and steered them toward Zuko. “Say hello to your Uncle Zuko,” he ordered, clasping Zuko on the shoulder. Zuko smiled down at them and waved awkwardly. He was never sure how to act toward children. When he was little, he had hated when adults altered their tone and talked down to him, but at the same time he didn’t feel right speaking to children as he would people his age. Sometimes he got the feeling that Aang’s kids didn’t know quite how to interact to him either. He was certainly a far cry from their Uncle Sokka, who knew how to tickle kids until they were shrieking with laughter and speak to them in a way that made them look up to him.

“Hi, Uncle Zuko,” Kya said dutifully.

“Hi, Uncle Zuko!” Bumi said before running off and yelling for his sister to follow. Katara sighed and rubbed her forehead as Kya chased after him, shrieking happily.

“Those two are going to be the death of me,” she groaned.

“Aww, come on,” Aang said, smiling fondly after them. “They’re just being kids.”

“Let them play,” Zuko agreed, taking their bags and handing them to the guard who had escorted his guests in. “The staff will watch them. Shall we get you settled in? You’ve arrived just in time for afternoon tea.”

“Royal Palace tea!” Aang exclaimed, genuine exuberance written on every feature. Zuko made every effort to keep his uncle’s renowned tea garden, and it always pleased him that Aang remembered. “I am all over that.”

Zuko couldn’t help but add: “We’ve prepared your favorite kind.”

Aang squeezed his arm affectionately and grinned widely, that special smile he always saved for Zuko. Basking in the familiar warmth, Zuko smiled back.

*

“So I see your beard’s finally growing in,” Zuko commented, raising an eyebrow at the new facial hair. Aang laughed and raised a hand to rub at his chin self-consciously.

“Do you hate it?”

“Mmm, no,” Zuko answered. The attendant brought a tray over and served them their tea, fragrant and strong. Zuko thanked him before adding to Aang, “It’s different, but it makes you look dignified.”

“Thanks,” Aang said. “Katara threatened to shave it off in my sleep,” he added. “Says it’s too itchy.”

Zuko looked down at his tea.

“Oh, hey,” Aang said, changing the topic quickly, although Zuko couldn’t tell if it was out of guilt or obliviousness, “I have to tell you the big news about Toph!”

“What news?” Zuko said, feeling better after a sip of the hot tea.

“She got knocked up!”

Zuko nearly fell out of his chair. “ _Toph?_ ” he exclaimed in disbelief, jaw dropped.

Aang burst out laughing. “Yup,” he confirmed, unabashedly snickering at Zuko’s shock. “I knew I had to see your reaction in person.”

“You’re having me on,” Zuko insisted, shaking his head in denial. “I can’t even picture it. Toph— _our Toph_ —a mother?”

Still chuckling, Aang refuted, “To be fair, she is pretty good with those kids at her school.”

“Well, yeah, but—a baby!”

“She’ll either be the best or most terrifying mom ever,” Aang agreed.

“Possibly both,” Zuko muttered.

“I can’t wait,” Aang said with a grin. “Her kid and Number Three will be in close in age. They can be friends!”

Zuko laughed. “Number Three? I hope that’s not your baby’s official name.”

Smiling, Aang rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Honestly, we’ve just been too tired with Kya and Bumi to decide on anything. Besides, the two of them were easy: We had the namesakes all lined up. But I kind of want this one to have their own name. Something to grow into and make their own.”

“Maybe something related to airbending, hmm?”

Aang grinned ruefully. “You know me too well. I feel bad about hoping for that, but I kind of don’t want to _actually_ be the last airbender ever. It… Well, let’s just say I would be excited if I could pass that legacy on. I’m more than grateful for the Air Acolytes, but it’s not the same.”

Though he was sympathetic, Zuko could barely imagine it. Firebending was so integrated into Fire Nation culture that even in peacetime there was such pride in honing benders’ skills. Children learned how to bend as they learned how to walk. To have none of that; to be the only person in the world who could bend their people’s element, something was so at the core of who somebody was—it was incomprehensible. And yet Aang did it, bearing that weight on his shoulders on top of being the Avatar, on top of all the other responsibilities he had accumulated over the years. Not for the first time, Zuko looked at Aang and wondered how such an amazing human being existed.

“I hope you get what you want,” he said, hoping his feelings weren’t too obvious on his face. “But I know that either way, the child will be lucky to have a father as wonderful as you.”

Beaming, Aang said, “Thanks, Zuko. I’m doing my best.” He sighed. “Sometimes, though, I’m just exhausted. I know I’m hardly old, but I can already feel my age in my bones. Traveling so much takes a toll on me, and whether I bring them with me or leave them and Katara at home, I feel bad.” He sighed, “Between you and me, sometimes I wish I could get away from all the people and all the responsibilities and go meditate in the mountains for a year.”

“I know what you mean,” Zuko said, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve been renegotiating this trade treaty with Kuei for months and am at my wit’s end. That’s on top of four border disputes, three mayoral scandals, the soybean crops producing an alarming low yield, and accounts of labor abuse in the construction of the Transnational Railroad.”

Aang patted the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, Zuko. You know I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

“And you know that I appreciate it,” Zuko said. “And that I’ll ask for your assistance if I need it.”

Raising an eyebrow, Aang laughed, “You are so full of it! We both know that you’re terrible at asking for help.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. A Fire Lord shouldn’t need the Avatar’s help in dealing with such petty things.”

Aang grinned in that knowing way, shaking his head. He reached for Zuko’s hand again, squeezing it this time. “How about a friend’s help?”

Sighing, Zuko said, “All right. I’ll show you the treaty tomorrow. Maybe you’ll be able to see what I’m missing. Kuei isn’t usually a problem, but he’s really dragging his feet on this one.”

“Good,” Aang said, and Zuko quickly shut off the part of him that itched to kiss that smug grin. “It’s so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day problems, but we have to remember not to lose sight of the big picture. This world we helped bring about—it’s a good one. The people aren’t always perfect, and harmony can be elusive, but it’s a better world, and it’s getting better every day.”

“Yeah,” Zuko murmured, feeling some of the tension uncoil from his stiff shoulders. “I’ll promise to try to remember if you do.”

Smiling, Aang said, “Deal.”

The now empty teapot was replaced with a new one, and Zuko refilled their cups. Aang’s fingers brushed against his when he picked his cup back up again. They drank in a comfortable silence.

“Hey,” Zuko said after a moment. “Thanks for making it, despite your stress and exhaustion. I’m glad you came.”

“Are you kidding?” Aang said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I love these vacations and catching up with you. 

“Yeah,” Zuko said softly. “Me too.”

They shared a smile, and deep down, Zuko wished things were different.

*

“So, Zuko, is there anyone special in your life?”

“Uh,” Zuko said, the unexpected question throwing him off, “no. For spirits’ sake, you think I have time for things like that?”

Looking taken aback, Katara said, “Sorry. I was just wondering. It’s been a long time since Mai…”

Zuko scrubbed his face and steadfastly ignored the mention of his ex-girlfriend. He tried at all costs to avoid thinking about Mai and how that had all gone south. Years later, his pride still stung. “No, I apologize for snapping. It’s just that my advisors are nagging me about finding a wife, and it’s getting on my nerves. They’ve completely given up being subtle about it.”

“Would you consider a political alliance?” Aang wondered, and his odd tone made Zuko look at him sharply.

“Only if the Fire Nation would benefit in a way that no other alliance could ensure,” he said. The answer seemed to appease Aang, whose tensed shoulders loosened—another thing Zuko was not going to think about.

“What about the throne?” Katara wondered.

Zuko had wondered the same thing much too often. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I guess that fits the criteria of benefitting my country. But part of me wants a family, you know? Not just three people together by happenstance, to serve a political end.” Then more quietly, he admitted, “I don’t know if I’ll have a choice in the end.”

Katara reached over to squeeze his hand. “You’ve still got plenty of time to meet someone, Zuko. I mean, you’re a pretty eligible bachelor, if we’re being honest.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow, and Aang mock-glared at her. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Katara rolled her eyes and began to tick items off her fingers. “He’s an emperor and a war hero, he lives in this big, beautiful palace, he’s wealthy…”

“And attractive, strong, generous, smart…”

Both Katara and Zuko’s heads swiveled to look at Aang sharply. Zuko’s gaze skittered away again immediately, his cheeks burning. But Katara continued staring, something hard and inscrutable in her eyes.

“What?” said Aang defensively. “It’s true.”

“Yes, it is,” Katara agreed slowly, dropping her eyes to her nearly empty teacup. Her fingers tightened around the porcelain.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable and stifling, and Zuko busied himself with refilling their cups.

“I’m sure it’ll turn out okay,” Aang said after a moment, though Zuko noticed that his lips were slightly downturned. He wondered if he was imagining the slight tremor in the words that followed: “Heirs aside, we just don’t want you to be lonely.”

“I appreciate it,” Zuko said, because it was something to say, and if the conversation didn’t take a turn, he just might die from awkwardness. What a shame for old friends to be reduced to this.

“Oh, Zuko!” Katara said with perfect timing as she very clearly forced a bright smile on her face, “have you heard about Toph?”

“Yes, Aang told me yesterday—but _please_ tell me more, because I’m still not convinced this is actually happening.”

As Katara shared the story of how Toph had dropped the bomb, Aang shot him a look of gratitude. Zuko gave him a small nod in return. The flame within him—after all these years, still refusing to die—gave a commendable attempt to sputter to life, but he quickly tucked it away. Aang was his friend. Of course he thought highly of him. In no way was his praise an indication of romantic affection. And even if it were, Aang was a family man. He had a wonderful wife and two beautiful children, with another one on the way. Any hope for the two of them had slipped through Zuko’s grasp many years ago.

Wishful thinking never got anybody anywhere, and he was done with that.

*

The thick, heavy fragrance of incense wafted through the dimly lit room as Zuko lit the tips of the sticks with a gentle brush of his fingers. Bowing his head, he clasped the incense sticks between his palms and breathed in the smoky sandalwood scent. Above him, Iroh’s portrait watched him benevolently, eyes kind and smile easy.

His uncle’s shrine was the only one Zuko kept around and made sure was constantly replenished. Though the servants always left fruit meticulously arranged on the altar, Zuko only ever brought tea, which he always served in what had been Iroh’s favorite tea set.

Zuko placed the incense sticks in their ornate holder and knelt on the floor with his cup of tea, the red-and-gold rug soft beneath his knees.

“I miss you, Uncle,” he said. “I miss having family around. Most of the time, I’m so busy that I don’t even think about being alone. But sometimes, I think it would be nice to have company. Someone to hold onto, to give it all some meaning.

“The council keeps trying to play matchmaker. I’ve been on way more diplomatic missions and visits to governors and mayors and their families than necessary, all because they hope I’ll meet someone and finally alleviate their fears of ending up without an heir. Who knows, maybe I will.”

The tea was rich and smooth going down his throat, and he closed his eyes to focus on the taste, remembering all the layers of flavor Iroh had always waxed poetic about.

“I want a family. I want to be with someone I love, and I want to raise kids and do right by them. Be the father that Ozai never was. The thought of that responsibility terrifies me—but the thought of never having a chance to do so scares me more.” Then, softer, he continued, “But nobody I meet measures up to Aang. And that scares me the most.”

Zuko looked up into Iroh’s likeness and wished the wise, jolly man were still here with him, always so full of spirit and wisdom and affection. Their time together hadn’t been nearly enough, and Zuko missed him more and more with each passing season. He had never outright told Iroh about his feelings for Aang and what had transpired between them that summer, but he always suspected that that keen mind had known anyway. But Iroh never said anything, and Zuko had always been too timid to bring it up himself. He wished now that he had, though, because he wished Iroh could answer the question that haunted his days:

“Uncle, why do we love when it makes living so hard?”

*

The last person Zuko had expected to find by the pond at this late hour was Kya, whose little legs dangled off the stone bench as she hummed to herself and tore the petals off of a fire-red chrysanthemum blossom. The moon, full and ivory, was reflected in the surface of the water, and the stars twinkled above their heads.

“What are you doing out here?” Zuko asked as he tucked his cloak around her bare shoulders and took a seat next to her. The late spring nights had yet to take on the thick, heavy warmth of Fire Nation summers, and he welcomed the crisp air traveling through his lungs.

“Thinking,” Kya replied matter-of-factly, as if Zuko were thick-headed for not automatically assuming that a five-year-old was prone to late-night ponderings.

“What do you have to think about?” Zuko said with a laugh. Kya peered at him suspiciously before deeming his amusement the product of mirth rather than malice. She threw the flower aside and crossed her arms.

“Lots of things,” she said adamantly. “Daddy says it’s important to find a quiet place and think about stuff sometimes.”

“That sounds like him,” Zuko said, and it was impossible not to smile at the thought of Aang teaching his boisterous kids the value of meditation.

“Bumi’s not very good at it,” Kya added.

“Are you?” Zuko asked, genuinely curious.

Kya scrunched up her nose. “No, not really,” she admitted with a scowl. Zuko burst out laughing.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he said. “I’m terrible at it, too.”

The confession drew a smile from Kya. “But Daddy says you’re really, really good at being a Fire Lord,” she said.

“He said that?” Zuko ignored the little skip in his heart. No matter how many years passed, he would never be used to Aang’s compliments and avowals of faith. “That’s very generous of him.”

Smiling brightly, Kya patted his arm. “When I grow up, I want to have my own best friend like you and Daddy.”

Zuko swallowed and couldn’t think of anything proper to say.

A silence fell between them, and Zuko wondered if Kya was trying to meditate. But a quick glance to his left revealed that she was staring down at her lap and chewing on her lip. He didn’t say anything, certain that her thoughts would come spilling out in no time. She was hardly a shy one.

“Why are you so sad, Uncle Zuko?”

Surprised by the perceptive question, Zuko looked down at her, marveling at the fact that he could already see parts of Aang in her: the nose, the effortless smile, and the gangly limbs. 

“I’m just tired today,” he answered. But she shook her head, thick dark braid flying everywhere.

“No,” she said, in that petulant way children spoke when they weren’t being understood by adults. “You’re always sad,” she explained. “Why?”

He thought about the way he always counted down the days to Aang’s visits, and the way he had gotten his hair trimmed just in time for Aang’s arrival, and saved his best robes for that first day. He thought about Aang’s kind words and Katara’s suspicious gaze, and the casual way Aang took every opportunity to touch him in a manner Zuko wasn’t sure he was even aware he was doing. He thought the letter he had received five years ago announcing Katara was with child, and the sharp pang of sadness that had eaten away at him at Aang’s thinly veiled enthusiasm. He thought about _“I think of you all the time”_ and _“You won’t lose me”_ and _“There never was.”_

“There was once something I thought I could have,” Zuko said softly, craning his head to look up at the moon. “But I missed my chance. I will always regret that.” Craning his head to look up at the moon, he continued, almost to himself, “I don’t think about it as much as I used to, but there are some things you carry with you throughout life.”

To his surprise, Kya didn’t say anything, seeming to mull his words over. “But there’s always hope,” she said slowly, as if she weren’t so sure about it herself. “That’s what Dad always says.”

“Yeah?” said Zuko, choking out a self-deprecating laugh. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was pretty sure Aang’s optimism didn’t apply in this case.

A moment passed. Kya watched him as he fixed his eyes on the moonlight reflected in the water.

“Did it hurt?” Kya wondered suddenly, blue eyes huge with innocent curiosity.

Confused at the abrupt change of subject, Zuko asked, “Did what hurt?”

She pointed at his face, nearly poking him in the eye. Zuko didn’t feel so self-conscious about the scar anymore, and people usually refrained from commenting on it nowadays, so to have it brought up was a surprise. For a brief moment, he debated lying, but there was something so innocent about her curiosity that he couldn’t bear to.

“It did,” he admitted. “But it hurt more on the inside than it ever did here.”

They were not words he had ever articulated aloud, but they were the truth. There were times he still felt Ozai’s ghost weighing down on him, criticizing his every decision, second-guessing every political move. Though he had not been much of a father in the end, Zuko had still looked at him as such, and all that had transpired between them was a deep gash in the core of his being that would never heal.

“Can I touch it?”

Startled, Zuko blinked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment before nodding. He bent his head toward her. She laid her small, delicate hand on the burnt flesh, an age-old reminder of his family’s legacy and everything he had to atone for, something he had to face in the mirror every morning.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” she said solemnly, blue eyes wide with the straightforward honesty of children. “I hope it gets better.”

A lump formed in Zuko’s throat. Unable to voice his emotions, he folded her tiny body in his arms, marveling at this miracle of life with Aang’s heart and Katara’s soul.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you to bed.”


	6. Chapter 5

**_Present day, 140 ASC_ **

“I hereby name you Crown Princess Liang of the Fire Nation.”

With a smile, Liang rose, dark hair bound tightly against her scalp and new flame-shaped crown glimmering in the golden sunlight. The roar of the crowd cheering below them intensified, people having flooded the Fire Palace courtyard in hopes of getting a glimpse of their future leader. Liang looked majestic and beautiful in her crimson ceremonial robes, and Zuko felt as though he would burst with pride.

Liang bowed deeply. “Thank you, Father. It is a great honor.”

Zuko smiled and took her hand before raising the other to wave regally at the crowd. “The honor is mine,” he said. “I am so proud of you.”

Beaming, she squeezed his hand.

*

Five months. It took them five months to create a baby that survived the voyage from the Spirit World, and the months after that were fraught with both joy and anxiety.

Shen the magician was patient and never stopped encouraging them, reassuring them that they had come too far to give up. They grew to know the path to that little house in the mountains very well, and though Zuko still treasured the time alone with Aang, the journey began to become synonymous with futile hope in his mind.

They took turns doubting that it would ever work, Zuko wondering if he was fated to never experience fatherhood and Aang confiding that he feared he was paying the price for asking for too much. But the other was always there to make sure they didn’t lose faith.

After five months, their patience and hope had nearly run out, but the baby they created survived. And nine months later, he survived to infancy, eyes gold, heartbeat steady, and grip strong. Zuko could scarcely believe it when Shen wrote to them telling them how healthy the baby was, seven months after he had been created.

The palace was in a flurry at the news, staff and advisors alike thrilled at the prospect of a newborn. There had been universal relief when Liang had returned to claim her birthright, but it had been long since the palace had been home to any royal babies. The curtains of the vast nursery were swept open, every surface meticulously dusted off, all the walls repainted and linens replenished. The closets were filled with tiny clothes and shoes and documents drawn up for inheritance purposes. The staff expanded and chattered happily amongst themselves, and Zuko couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement — even as his heart was constantly in his throat at the thought of it all going south.

But his worry was for naught.

On the first day of spring, Aang and Zuko took their child home.

*

“I can’t believe it,” Zuko said, the bundle warm in his arms. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the baby’s sleeping face. “I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“Watch your step,” Aang said as they came across the steps up to the palace. Zuko laughed.

“Sorry, I’m just so happy,” he confessed as they made their way across the courtyard.

Smiling, Aang gave him a tender look. “Never apologize for that,” he said.

At the doors, Liang rushed toward them, dignity abandoned in her excitement. “Father!” she exclaimed. “Is that him?”

Zuko peeled the red blanket back slightly so Liang could get a good look of her new brother.

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes full of wonder. Her smile was open and unguarded. She said to the little bundle, “Hello, little brother. I have waited so long for someone like you.”

“You’ll be the best big sister he could ask for,” Zuko said. Liang’s glowing smile shifted toward him, and he couldn’t help the sudden surge of love he felt for her.

“I’ll do my best,” she said, nearly quivering with excitement. It was a good look on her, and Zuko’s heart caught in his throat when he caught a trace of his mother in her delighted expression. He was so lucky that she had come to him. Every day, she reminded him how fortunate he was. Peering closer, Liang added, “He’s so small. And so beautiful.”

“Yes, he is,” Zuko agreed. Aang grinned, hand resting on Zuko’s back.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get the sleepyhead to his room so he can rest properly. I’m sure he’ll have lots of visitors soon.”

As they made their way to nursery, many of the newly hired caretakers offered to take the baby from them, but Zuko turned them all down obstinately.

This was his child. His and Aang’s.

He didn’t ever want to let go.

*

Not much later, Mai and Ty Lee came to visit, arm in arm.

Immediately, Ty Lee squealed at the sight of the sleeping baby. Zuko hushed her, hovering over the crib protectively. Giggling, Ty Lee covered her mouth.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “He’s just so cute.”

“He is,” Aang said, putting his arm around Zuko’s waist. Zuko looked at him and smiled fondly.

Mai peered over the edge of the crib, eyes soft. She said, “I’m happy for you,” and Zuko could tell that she meant it.

“Thank you,” he said. He meant it, too.

“I remember when Liang was this tiny,” Ty Lee said wistfully. “She was never quiet like this, though.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Mai said.

Aang laughed. “I certainly will,” he said. “Even Tenzin was a fussy baby.”

“So what’s his name?” Ty Lee asked, cooing as Zuko tucked the blankets more snugly around the slumbering baby.

Smiling, Aang looked at Zuko, and Ty Lee’s gaze followed his.

Zuko had given this great thought, and he was thankful that Aang was deferring to him. Aang had already had the chance to name three children; it was only fair that Zuko also get a chance.

There was only one other man in the world who meant as much to him as Aang did, one who he had missed every day since his passing so many years ago. One who had stood behind Zuko from the very beginning, who had offered Zuko his loyalty when he had been an exiled disgrace to the Fire Nation and an enemy to the rest of the world. One who had guided Zuko when all had seemed hopeless, who had always reminded him that he could be a better person than his father and sister chose to be. One who had spent too many years of his life mourning the death of his son in war. One who was the most undercelebrated hero of the Hundred Year War.

“Iroh,” Zuko said quietly. Then louder and more firmly, “His name is Iroh.”

*

“Hey, handsome.”

Eyes bleary, Zuko looked up from the trade documents he was studying in preparation for a meeting with the Northern Water Tribe ambassador the next morning. Aang hovered in the doorway, expression soft and a smile playing at the edge of his lips. He looked tired but happy.

“Hey,” Zuko said softly as Aang closed the door behind him and came over to lean on Zuko’s desk. “Is he sleeping?”

“Yup,” Aang said, plucking up one of the papers Zuko had finished with. “And Jin is watching him. So we have some time to ourselves.”

Zuko leaned back in his seat. “Oh?” he said innocently. “I don’t know… Isn’t the chemistry supposed to go away once we have kids?”

Aang made his way around the desk and looped his arms around Zuko’s shoulders, pulling him back against his front snugly. Instantly relaxing, Zuko tilted his head back to kiss him, sweetly at first but heated and enthusiastic in no time. 

When they pulled apart, Aang said breathlessly, “Don’t count on it.” 

Without another thought, Zuko clambered to his feet, and Aang’s arms slid around his middle with familiar ease. They met in a kiss as if drawn together by supernatural force. This was something Zuko could never get enough of — Aang’s warm embrace; hot, talented mouth; and determination to kiss him senseless.

“I love you,” Zuko gasped, hands working furiously at Aang’s sash.

“I love you, too,” Aang answered with a tender smile, though the sincerity of his words contrasted sharply with the dirty way he was sucking on Zuko’s neck. Not that Zuko minded — he was sure Aang could feel his enthusiasm through all the layers of fabric. It was astounding that after all these years, this man could still make his knees weak and every nerve in his body vibrate with desire.

“Come to bed,” Aang whispered, breath hot against his ear.

“Gladly,” Zuko said and tugged him toward their bedroom.

*

It was a busy month. Many foreign dignitaries paid house calls to meet both the crown princess and the Fire Nation’s new prince. For Zuko, the novelty of showing off his children began wearing off after a dozen visitors. He knew his duties, but he couldn’t help but resent royal protocol for robbing him of precious time he would have preferred to spend with Aang and Iroh alone. Most days, Aang fell asleep waiting up for him.

By the time Zuko got a break, he was exhausted and ready to sleep for a century if that was what it took for his head to stop hurting. Aang took pity on him and offered a massage, working his dexterous, wonderfully talented fingers into Zuko’s aching muscles with just the right amount of pressure.

“So Mai and I talked today,” Aang said, waging battle against one of the more stubborn knots in Zuko’s back.

Zuko’s pleasure immediately turned into concern. Frowning, he said, “And?”

Aang shrugged. “And nothing. I told her I didn’t want things to be weird anymore, and she agreed. Then we had tea.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, she’s not exactly a spirited conversationalist,” Aang pointed out, kneading Zuko’s shoulders with the perfect amount of force. Zuko absently wondered if giving good massages was an Avatar thing. Or maybe an Airbender one.

“You had to have talked about _something_ ,” he said.

“Yes, Zuko, we spoke for three hours about you and dished up all the dirty details — is that what you want to hear?” Even without seeing it on his face, Zuko could hear the eye roll in Aang’s voice.

“Oh?” He rolled over to face Aang and yanked him down for a kiss. “What kind of dirty details?”

Laughing, Aang smacked his shoulder. “Quit it, I’m trying to do something nice for you.”

“Mmm, I know,” Zuko replied. “I’m showing my appreciation.”

Tantalizingly, Aang leaned over him and said playfully, “I thought you were tired.”

“Never too tired for this,” Zuko said, rolling them over so he was the one straddling Aang. Then, he promptly yawned.

Aang burst out laughing, and it was Zuko’s turn to shove him with an undignified pout.

“C’mon,” Aang said, patting the tousled covers beside him, “lie down with me, old man.”

Sighing, Zuko obeyed him even as he muttered, “Who are you calling old?” He really was exhausted. He turned on his side to face Aang, who echoed his motion.

“Hey,” Aang said, draping his arm across Zuko’s middle. Zuko shifted closer, basking in Aang’s comforting presence.

“Hi,” he answered. He treasured simple moments like this between them, when the rest of the world fell away and all that mattered was that Aang was finally here with him, truly his partner in every way that mattered. When he felt confident that he could speak freely and just be himself — something that he was not allowed the luxury of very often.

“Joking aside, I’m glad you and Mai had a chat,” Zuko said. “And speaking of that, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about…”

The playfulness vanished from Aang’s expression. “What is it?” he asked, his thumb stroking the marred skin of Zuko’s eye affectionately.

“I was thinking of asking them to stay, permanently,” Zuko blurted out, nervous about Aang’s reaction would be. “I mean, Liang is staying, and I feel bad tearing her away from them, and Ty Lee seems to be enjoying herself, and Mai doesn’t seem any grumpier than ever, and they’re good with Iroh, and—”

“Zuko,” Aang said gently. “It’s fine. I was going to ask you to do the same thing.”

“Oh,” Zuko said, pleased. “Really?”

“Yup. Come on, you don’t have to look so surprised; it’s not that big of a deal. I always knew they were here to stay.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Zuko said earnestly.

Aang smiled, eyes bright with affection. “You’re cute,” he said, lacing their fingers together and kissing Zuko along his jawline.

“Yeah?” Zuko said, tugging him closer. “Prove it.”

*

Springtime brought with it a sense of ease and freedom, of rebirth and new chances. Iroh grew slow but steadily, and Zuko loved him more and more every day. Sometimes he snuck away between meetings to visit him in the nursery, even if it was just to watch him sleep or briefly hold him in his arms. Zuko could already tell that he was going to be destined for great things, just like his sister.

With the nice weather came opportunities for the Fire Lord to take a break and bring his son outdoors, and Zuko and Aang found themselves frequently relaxing by the pond. Oftentimes, Liang joined them, and on occasion Mai and Ty Lee did as well, especially now that they were officially permanent residents of the royal palace. It was on one such occasion that Zuko finally broached a topic he had been pondering for some time.

“So I was thinking,” he said, valiantly trying to appear casual as he leaned against the patio steps. He could feel Aang’s elbow resting against his own, its easy presence reassuring. “Maybe this summer, if everyone’s schedules line up… You could invite your family to visit? I mean, I would understand if you don’t want to — or they don’t want to — but I… I would be okay with it. I just wanted to let you know that.”

He wasn’t sure how to take Aang’s silence or the disbelief writ plainly on his face. Spirits, he hoped he hadn’t insulted or upset him. Keeping his head down, Zuko quickly busied himself with refilling their teacups.

“You mean it?” Aang said. He sounded tentative, but Zuko didn’t know how to read that, either.

“Yeah, of course,” Zuko replied. “Like I said, only if you want to—”

He flailed helplessly as Aang suddenly flung his arms around him, nearly knocking the teapot over.

“Of course I want to,” Aang said. “I want everyone to meet Liang and Iroh, and I want to laugh as Bumi and Kya drive you nuts, and I know Tenzin will want to discuss his coursework with you.” He pulled back to look Zuko in the eye. “But I don’t want you to do anything that puts you in an awkward position.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it,” Zuko said. He pushed away his instinctual indignation at Aang’s skepticism. Quietly, he said, “When you first came here, I was terrified. It was all too surreal. I couldn’t help but worry that you would leave again…”

“I won’t,” Aang said firmly.

“You did once, Aang,” Zuko said and held up a hand to stop Aang when he opened his mouth to protest. “No, it’s okay. That’s what I’m saying — it’s okay. The past is the past, and it should stay there. My parents — all of them — were so haunted. And my family was so cold. I don’t want that for Iroh. I want to be better. And that means recognizing that I can’t hold what happened before against you. Any of it. All of it. Situations are what they are, and we can only make the best of the time given us. And I’m so grateful for this time with you.”

Aang’s eyes looked suspiciously wet and his voice was uncharacteristically wobbly when he replied, “That means a lot to me, Zuko. Thank you.”

Zuko smiled and wordlessly swiped his thumb across Aang’s right cheek. “You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

“And Zuko?”

Zuko looked at him, curious.

“You’re my family, too,” Aang said, squeezing his thigh. “You and Iroh and Liang and — all of you.”

Zuko laid his hand atop Aang’s and laced their fingers together. He looked around the courtyard. Liang was practicing katas with Ty Lee by the pond, and Mai watched them with a mild smile, fingers nimbly knitting a baby-sized hat. Beside Zuko and Aang, Iroh slumbered peacefully in a wicker bassinet, rocked gently by the breeze. Zuko felt warm and happy.

“Family,” he repeated, and he could hardly contain his smile. He wrapped an arm around Aang and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

“Me too,” Aang said softly and kissed him, deep and true. 

And in that moment, Zuko knew this was who he was meant to be: emperor, father, partner, lover, friend. Part of a sprawling family that was anything but ordinary — yet would never be short on love. After all this time, all the ups and downs, all the long, winding roads, this was what was meant to be. This was his _destiny_.

And he couldn’t be happier about who he got to share it with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days after Legend of Korra's Season 1 finale, I had a random thought: What if Iroh II were Zuko and Aang's son, rather than Zuko's grandson? Was there a way to reconcile this with canon? This story—and _The Fire of A Thousand Suns_ —are the results of that stray thought.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's gotten to this point for following along. I write slowly, but always with feeling, and it's wonderful to have readers who stick around.
> 
> The third and last story in this series addresses Zuko and Aang's twilight years and offers some closure for Zuko and Katara. Keep your eyes peeled!


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